The Worst That Could Happen
by LucyToo
Summary: Kurt tries to help Dave find his way out of the closet. When things go more wrong for Dave than Kurt ever would have guessed, it's up to Kurt to help Dave pick up the pieces. Non-con, violence, homophobia, Kurtofsky. Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: I'm new to Glee but not new to writing. Any grammar mistakes are because I am a dumbass, any fandom mistakes are because I'm a newb. Forgive me. __And please, heed the warnings in the summary. If anything about a non-con situation might trigger anything, skip this one. It's definitely more comfort than hurt in the end, but the hurt is bad and I'm not one to shy around it. _

* * *

><p>It starts with an email.<p>

Kurt doesn't recognize the sender's address. He would just delete it as one of the increasingly annoying pieces of spam that his hotmail account seems entirely unprepared to weed out (despite their frequent promises and the optimistically-named Junk folder they created for him) except for the subject line:

_Just hear me out and I wont bug you again_

He's seen some rather creative spam subject lines before, but when he hovers his mouse over the delete button some little niggle of instinct stops him. He opens the email instead, prepared to at lightning-fast speed send the thing into spam purgatory the moment he notices a hotlink or any reference to the size of anyone's anything.

_Santana_ _doesnt want to do the Bullywhip thing anymore since she didnt get prom queen _(and if Kurt wasn't already distracted by who he instantly knows this email has to be from, he would wince at the reminder of who _did_ get prom queen) _and without her doing it I really dont have an excuse. Anyway, I dont think I did enough yet, so if you see me hanging around sometimes I dont want you to get scared. Im not stalking you or whatever, and Im not gonna do anything. I just think someone should keep an eye out for a little longer. And if anybody gives you shit just let me know. _

The email is signed with just '_Karofsky_', and Kurt isn't sure whether to laugh ironically or shake his head sadly when he sees that the sender's address is 'thisiswhereyousendmeemails' at gmail_. _

It's strange, and unexpected, but Kurt doesn't delete the thing without a second thought the way that he maybe should.

Karofsky apologized to him once, and Kurt didn't see a hint of dishonesty in it. He believes that the overcompensating closet case really is sorry, and even though it isn't the solution to all their problems it's enough that Kurt has learned to stop being scared of his former tormenter. But they aren't anything like friends: he's tempted to ask how Karofsky even got his email address.

When he responds to the email, though, he doesn't ask. He doesn't say a lot of the things that he wants to. He keeps it - miracle of miracles - simple.

_You don't think you 'did enough yet'? If you mean that you think you owe me something, you don't. We made our peace and I'm fine with that._

_-Kurt_

The answer comes faster than he expects, his email notification beeping even as he's settling in to Perez Hilton for gossip and the always refreshing reminder that despite what his friends sometimes say, there _are _gayer people than Kurt Hummel in the world.

_Well, Im not fine with that. I know its not enough. If it freaks you out tell me and Ill fuck off, but I still owe you._

Kurt isn't a saint. Even though he doesn't believe in God, he knows that rare people are capable of completely selfless lives full of forgiveness and turning the other cheek and all those Mother Theresa type virtues. But Kurt isn't one of those people. Sometimes he still gets furious over Karofsky, over the constant abuse and the way no one bothered to try to stop it. He still feels like the school board revoking Karofsky's expulsion was just one more hard slap to Kurt's face.

Karofsky really is sorry, but sorry is an easy thing to be. There's no challenge in 'sorry', no effort to it. Karofsky's right – wearing a ridiculous beret and parading the halls like live-action commercials for Santana the Law and Order Prom Queen isn't nearly enough to make up for what he did.

But Kurt for all his glitter and smiles isn't completely naïve. In fact, he can be downright cynical about some things. Getting an apology out of a bully isn't enough, but it's more than most people ever get. Getting a complete closet case meathead to out himself in a moment of anger doesn't absolve said meathead of all his dirty deeds, but then most closet cases like Karofsky stay hidden for far too many miserable decades. Sometimes they never leave Narnia at all.

Kurt is a bright-eyed Glee kid but he knows how the world works. He knows that justice is what you make of it. Karofsky is getting off light with a 'sorry' and a beret, but he's a world away from where he was months ago, and that's something.

So he's sincere when he types out a careful reply to Karofsky.

_If you really think you still owe me something, you already know the one thing I want from you. __Every time I tell you to come out, you refuse without thinking about it. That's all I want from you, okay? Not even the coming out thing. I just want you to really think about it. I've met your dad. He seems understanding. Maybe you could start with him and just see how it goes. Really at this point I think you should start by just saying the words out loud into a mirror. __I know you think I'm a broken record about this. But I've been where you are, and I came out the other side alive, right? _

_-Kurt_

The reply is slow in coming. Kurt opens up Perez in another tab and scans the posts absently while waiting for the indicator to beep again. He has a sudden and probably unfair mental image of Karofsky sitting at a computer pecking out his slow reply with two thick fingers, all but cross-eyed from the effort of spelling words correctly. Which, okay, petty, but no one has ever said that Kurt Hummel can't be petty. It's one of his defining characteristics.

Finally, it comes.

_You know why I first hated you? Cause you did what Im too chicken shit to do. Youre this walking reminder that Im a fucking coward. Sometimes I want to do it, you know? And I think well hell, you could do it so why not me? _

_But thats bullshit. My life isnt anything like yours. Your friends are different and your dads different and just because you could come out to them and everythings all flowers and unicorns or whatever that doesnt mean its gonna be the same way for me. _

_It fucking sucks, aint gonna lie. Sometimes I hate my fucking life so much I think of doing some really stupid things. But if I tell people the truth then it might suck even worse. Anyway this doesnt make any fucking sense and I dont know how to say it right, but whatever. Just dont get freaked out when you see me in the halls, thats all im saying._

Kurt is a broken record but even he can get tired of repeating himself. He would almost be ready to let this drop, but there's a last line a few spaces down, like Karofsky jammed the enter key a few times just thinking about typing it.

_If all you want is for me to think about it than I guess I already win. Because mostly I can't think about anything else. _

It's an unsatisfying victory, but Kurt will take it. He keeps his answer short and final:

_So think about this: if you do it, what's the very worst that could happen? Honestly, I'm not being flippant, you should really think about that. Because if you imagine the absolute worst thing that could happen, and then compare that to going on living this miserable life of yours...you'll see which choice is worse, and you can make a decision more easily. _

_And, fwiw...even if you don't choose the way I think you should, I'm still kind of proud of you._

It's strange to write that and strange to actually send it. Strangest of all to realize that he _means_ it. He's got issues with Karofsky that no amount of retail therapy can heal, but he also knows what it's like hovering in the closet door, obsesssing over taking that first step out.

He waits around for a while, window-shopping Prada online and checking out the cheekbones on the latest Hugo Boss models. When he realizes he's waiting for an email from David Karofsky of all people, the surrealism finally becomes impossible to ignore. He clucks at himself and shuts his laptop to wander downstairs and see what Carole's making for dinner.

The next day in the crowded hallway he sees a letterman jacket as he moves from English Lit towards the music room. Karofsky leans back against the wall, casual, until Kurt and Finn are far enough away, and then he straightens up and heads after them. At a distance – Finn doesn't even notice him – but near enough that Kurt only has to glance back to see the red of the jacket.

It doesn't bother him, he decides quickly. Maybe he should be proud and manly and tell Karofsky off for thinking that he needs to be babysat, but then Kurt doesn't exactly have a track record for fending off bullies.

When they reach the music room Kurt holds the door open for Finn and hangs back long enough to watch Karofsky approach and swing off to the side like he had been headed towards the art room all along. When Karofsky passes, Kurt feels himself smile. It's small, uncertain, but it's what he has to offer.

"I'm going to call you Dave now," he announces, nodding to himself as the words come out, pleased with this decision.

To his surprise Karofsky doesn't tense – much. Instead he meets Kurt's eyes for a fleeting second and smiles back. Just as small, just as unsure, and...strange, almost shy. It's a new look for him, and something about it makes Kurt's shoulders relax and his own smile grow.

Karofsky-who-is-now-_Dave _doesn't say anything. He just keeps moving down the hall. Kurt lets the music room door close behind him, and he braces for another hour of Rachel showing off among the various hetero-tragic soap opera plotlines that love to work themselves out in this room.

So that's how it starts. With an email, and a shy smile in the hallway, and no clear idea where things are going to go from there.

Where it ends, though...where something entirely new and entirely horrible starts instead...is in a dim locker room with panicked voices and Kurt's entire view of the world cracking and shifting into something he doesn't recognize.

* * *

><p>He's in the music room again. (This is a week after the emails and the little smile in the hallway, and the decision that Karofsky's new life deserves 'Dave', but the music room is a common stage setting in Kurt's dramatic little life.)<p>

"Besides, I think we have to admit that while he has impeccable fashion sense and a flair for the theatrical, some people might find his song choices just a little...inaccessible."

Kurt rolls his eyes and puts a hand out to stall Mercedes even as she's drawing in a breath to fire back. He flashes Rachel his sweetest smile. "And _I _think," he says cheerfully, legs crossed and arms folded carefully in a pose that screams confident diva (he practices it in the mirror, he knows), "watching a teenage girl sobbing her way through songs about other people's problems isn't the highlight to anyone's evening either."

Mercedes sits back, sighing out her braced breath with a satisfied air.

Rachel turns the most delicate shade of pink (she probably practices _that_ in the mirror somehow) and her shoulders go stiff. "Feeling the emotion in my songs is hardly something I consider to be a detriment."

"That's a point, honey," Kurt says with a grin. "Except you feel _all _the emotion, there's none left for anyone else. Nobody in the audience is going to shed a tear when you're already drowning in your own."

Rachel spins around in her chair to face him straight-on. "I will have you know that Uta Hagen her_self_ once said that a performer's job is to-"

"Okay, I tell you what." Mr. Schue, conciliatory as he always is, moves up to the front of the room. He flashes a quick grin at Kurt and a longer, pandering smile down at Rachel. "Kurt brings up an interesting point. And I'm glad he did, because to be honest I didn't have a clue what this week's assignment was going to be."

Rachel settles down, turning back around in her chair to give her full attention.

Mr. Schue looks around at everyone, getting that time-for-the-life-lesson look on his face. "Most of the time I ask you to choose songs around themes, around how you feel or how someone else feels. This week, though, I want you to find a song that is meant to make your audience feel. Happy, sad, angry-"

"Horny?" Puck cuts in, taking a hard elbow to the side by Lauren but ignoring it with impressive fortitude.

Mr. Schue laughs. "Possibly, but keep it clean."

"Clean horny?" Puck glances at his fierce girlfriend. "Does that exist?"

She shrugs. "Preteen girls around Justin Beiber."

He considers that.

Mr. Schue shakes his head with a smile. "Seriously, guys. It's easy to cry when you sing a sad song. It's something else to sing a song that makes your audience cry, for you or for themselves. Best of all? We get to guess which emotion it is that we think you're trying to wring from us. That's your assignment."

There's the usual mix of groans and excited whispering, and Kurt wastes no time in turning to Mercedes with wide-eyed fear. "I have no instant idea for this assignment."

She laughs, slapping his arm. "Lucky for you there's a whole week." She sits back, a self-satisfied smile on her face. "Me? I've got this on lock."

He rolls his eyes. "Tell me you're not gonna sing some hymn trying to make us all see God."

"Hush, heathen. I'm not telling, you'll steal my idea."

Mr. Schue goes over to have a quiet conference with Brad at the piano, giving them some time to discuss their ideas, and Kurt leans over and taps Finn on the arm.

"What about you? What emotion are you going for? I love you and all, bro, but you're not deep."

Finn grins, as usual not taking it personally. He shrugs and sings tunelessly, "'_Don't you know everyone wants to laugh?_'"

Kurt beams instantly. "You just sang from a musical! Me and my gay are totally winning!"

"Shut up. Anyway, you laugh whenever I sing anything, so I figure that one's easy."

"I would _never _laugh at you for your singing," Kurt answers, affronted. "That would be inconsiderate, and frankly I have far too much class. I may find a _little _bit of humor in that balanceless flailing you sometimes do _while_ you're singing, but the singing itself?"

Finn rolls his eyes. "Don't worry, I was gonna add choreography for this assignment."

"Then that should be perfect. Or...no, it _would_ be perfect but you just told everyone what emotion you're going for, and we have to guess, remember? Now you have to try something else."

Finn thinks about that and scowls. "Damn it."

Quinn leans in to murmur something to him, but her tinny little Britney Spears ringtone cuts her off. She ignores Finn instantly to grab her phone.

Kurt can't remember if they're on again or off again, or if Rachel's in the picture, or what. Two decades ago he might have been one of those soap-loving gay boys who cried every year Susan Lucci didn't win any Emmys. But with his life as it is? Soaps are passe and he has so much drama around him that he's almost grown weary of it.

Quinn stares at the display on her phone and makes a face before shoving it back in her purse, still ringing. "Ugh, I wish I never gave that psychotic woman my number."

"Who?" Finn asks, sparing Kurt from having to express an interest in Quinn's life.

"Coach Sylvester," Quinn says with a prim little laugh as her phone finally falls silent. "She makes the Cheerios give her all their contact numbers. Seriously, _all_ of them. She actually called my grandfather's house once when I was late for practice."

"So why don't you change your number?" Mercedes asks over Kurt's shoulder.

Quinn smiles suddenly, and Kurt has to admit that for all the drama and heartache the girl drags along behind her, she really is quite lovely. "I can't! My last four numbers are 2883, and I just realized like last month that that means I can tell people my phone number is 577-CUTE."

"Oh my God." Kurt laughs and instantly pulls out his own cell to see what he can spell from his number. Mercedes already has her phone in hand, and they huddle in.

Behind Quinn, Santana's phone starts blaring out an ominous little tune. "Crap, Sylvester's calling _me_ now."

Finn looks back at her. "You have a ringtone just for Coach Sylvester?"

"It fits. It's Puddle of Mudd. 'Psycho'."

Her phone cuts off mid-lyric. Almost instantly beside her there's a burst of tinkles that resolves itself into the My Little Pony theme song. Brittany of course goes right for her phone and doesn't even bother to look at it, though Santana reaches out with horror in her eyes to stop her.

"Hello? Oh, Coach Sylvester!" Brittany listens for a minute and her vague smile fades. Suddenly she holds her phone out towards the piano. "Mr. Schue? It's for you."

He blinks, but comes over and takes her phone. He makes a face towards Kurt and Finn and looks at the phone as if he's seriously debating just hanging up and handing it back, but with a bracing breath he lifts it to his ear. "Sue? We're rehearsing right..."

He trails off. The playfully scared look on his face vanishes, twisting into something Kurt can't instantly interpret.

He turns away from his students and ducks his head. "Hey...hey! Sue! Slow down, what are you-"

Everyone's quiet now, their morbid curiosity about Sylvester's inevitable but usually entertaining rages fading into more genuine curiosity. Kurt slips his own phone back into his pocket, frowning at the sudden tense line of Mr. Schue's shoulders.

"Hang on. Where are..._who _needs..."

He turns suddenly, and his face is completely pale. He looks right at Kurt. "What does Kurt have to do with..."

Kurt sits up straighter, and something in his gut starts to thud like a heavy heartbeat.

Mr. Schue shuts the phone suddenly, his eyes wide and his expression odd. He draws in a breath and quickly gestures at Kurt. "Come with me, Kurt. Mercedes," he says when he sees her still holding her phone. "Call the police."

The air in the room thins out a little.

"The police?" Mercedes flips her phone open but hesitates. "What do I say?"

He shakes his head, reaching out and pulling Kurt by the arm when he doesn't move fast enough. "Get them over to the gym. Tell them someone is hurt." He doesn't give her time to ask more questions, just turns and leads Kurt to the door and out into the hall. He moves fast and his face is drained of all color, and there's a tense set to his jaw.

Kurt wants to echo the question Mr. Schue asked the coach – what does _he _have to do with anything? But he stays silent and keeps pace with Mr. Schue's urgent steps.

There's noise behind them and Kurt glances back to see Finn and Puck, and Santana. Mike and Sam are pretty close behind them. They all look confused, but they're obviously not willing to wait around and find out what's happening from someone else. Finn nods at Kurt, looking tense and confused, and Kurt would usually warm a little at the sign of support but he has no idea what's going on and he's never heard Mr. Schue sound so grim.

The halls are all but silent in the middle of the period, only a few stragglers here and there. Kurt ignores them and their double-takes as half the glee club charges down the hall. It's too quiet, but Kurt's heart is beating fast and hard, and his palms are sweating. He keeps pace with Mr. Schue and the others stay behind them trying not to get noticed in case Mr. Schue wants to send them back to class.

There are more people near the gym, and inside the gym itself there's a crowd of students in their gym clothes milling around one of the back doors.

Mr. Schue heads back there without missing a step, though the way he looks around Kurt can tell he's winging it.

There are a couple of broad-shouldered jocks with that pale post-Sylvester shaken look on their faces standing in front of a set of double doors that Kurt knows lead back to the locker rooms.

"Hey," one of them says, voice shaking from whatever terror Sylvester instilled in him, "Coach says nobody goes back-"

"Let us through," Mr. Schue says with a steady look that flits between the two kids. Worry makes him strangely grim and hard; Will Schuester isn't anyone's idea of an intimidator, but those two guys move to either side of the door with only a moment's pause.

Mr. Schue pushes through the doors, and Kurt trails at his side like a nervous sidekick.

There are sounds up ahead, a voice echoing through the hallway. On one side is the girls' locker room, on the other is the boys'. Mr. Schue follows the echo of voices through the doors to the girls' side.

The first thing Kurt notices is a dent in the wall near the mirrors inside the door. Cracked plaster and a round divot, and something dark and brown staining the ugly yellow paint. He blinks at the mar, confused, as he trails behind Mr. Schue.

The voice is Coach Sylvester's. Its softer than he's heard it in a while, but he still recognizes it.

"-just wait here for them, okay?" She's a long, tall spike of iron, Sue Sylvester, but right now her voice is vibrating like someone's plugged her into a socket.

Mr. Schue turns the corner around a row of lockers and stops so fast he has to brace a hand against the locker to keep from stumbling. Kurt nearly runs into him, but neatly sidesteps thanks to years of dance practice and moves around him instead.

His feet lock into place just as suddenly.

He looks, and sees, but he can't understand what it is that they've walked into.

Coach Sylvester is on her knees on the ground beside one of the long benches between the rows of lockers. The bench itself is shoved back at an angle and there's more dark brown, like on the dented wall, smeared down the length of it in a thick streak. More brown across the back row of lockers in a line of dots like sloppily spattered paint.

On the ground beside Sylvester is...someone, a male, a student, but Kurt can't tell much more. Whoever it is is lying still, face-down. Dark wet hair, three different oversized shower towels covering most of the rest of him. Brown – no, not brown, _red_, dark and rusty red – is dotted over those towels. And on the floor. And pooling by that head of hair.

At first he can't see much besides wet red and dirty towels and dark hair, but then Kurt's eyes catch on a plain black cell phone that must belong to the coach, lying forgotten on the floor near an exposed, pale, flung-out arm.

It smells like iron. The whole room smells like Kurt's mouth tastes when he accidentally bites his lip in his sleep.

His eyes go back to that pale, broad forearm, and he can't manage to draw in a breath. All he can do is notice that the fingernails are blunt and short and bloody, and the floor under that hand is streaked with drying red marks. Like the owner of that hand tried to claw himself free of something.

Kurt breathes in short, sharp little breaths. He looks back at Coach Sylvester, sees the way her body is shuddering to match her shaking voice.

She looks up, past Kurt to Mr. Schue, and her eyes are wide and strangely panicked.

"What...?" Mr. Schue moves suddenly, and who knows how he found that much strength because Kurt still can't even make himself breathe. "The police are on their way," he says as he moves around the bench and crouches on the other side of the towel-covered body. "What happened?"

Coach Sylvester shakes her head, and she's breathing a little like Kurt, in fast, shallow bursts. She's a rock, so if she can't get herself together than Kurt gives up on even trying to make sense of any of this.

There's a new noise suddenly, a low sound. A murmur, from the ground, from under that blood-wet dark hair.

Sylvester's helpless moment vanishes and she leans in, laying a hand on that limp arm. "Hey. Just...just shut up and wait for the ambulance."

The voice mutters again, and Kurt can't make sense of it but Sylvester must be able to. Her eyes come up and land on Kurt, still wide and strangely scared even as her voice snaps out as strong as ever, "I said shut up. Don't worry about that, he's right here, no one's going to do anything."

_He's right here._ 'He' is Kurt? It doesn't make sense. He doesn't understand what's happening and he can't _breathe._

On the floor the limp body stirs. Kurt's eyes go from Coach Sylvester's face to the ground, and he watches the towels shift as the person under them tries to move. That dark hair lifts off the ground, and suddenly Kurt can see the pale skin of a red-spattered face, and glassy, brown-edged green eyes.

Kurt thinks to himself, clearly and absurdly, _I didn't realize his eyes were that color. _It's only after that thought that he realizes he recognizes the person on the ground.

That recognition blasts into his mind like a spray of cold water. In the next moments he consciously realizes more: this brownish-red all over everything is blood. There's a dent in a whole section of lockers behind Sylvester, and the bench that's been pushed aside should have been bolted to the floor in another position.

This is more than a schoolyard beating. This is serious; this is _insane_. And the person who two months ago would have been top on the suspect list for a fight this bad is the same person whose glazed eyes seem to be trying to focus. To find Kurt.

Kurt makes a small, scared noise, understanding more and more but trying to refuse it.

Mr. Schue looks up suddenly at that little sound. "Kurt. I'm sorry, you shouldn't be here. Go out there with the other kids, okay? Let the paramedics know where to come when they-"

Kurt moves a step closer, and then another, feeling numb and removed from his body.

He wants to be sitting with Mercedes complaining about Rachel. He wants to be running through his iPod trying to find perfect songs. He wants it to be ten minutes ago so he doesn't have to make sense of any of this.

"Kurt!" Mr. Schue's voice is sharp.

Kurt jumps.

The limp arm on the floor jerks. There's motion from the broad body under the stained towels, and the murmurs of that hoarse voice are louder.

Kurt moves in another step, unable to focus on what Mr. Schue is asking. There's nowhere to kneel that doesn't have dots of blood all over it, so Kurt crouches down unsteadily.

"Dave?" His voice is a rasp he almost doesn't recognize, like dry leaves sliding together. He still can't draw in a solid breath and his chest feels tight.

There's a sudden commotion near the front, and a bang like double doors slamming open.

Mr. Schue and Coach Sylvester are both on their feet in a flash, tearing around the corner in case its the crowd of students getting impatient and bursting in. But the velcro on the bottom of Coach Sylvester's track jacket snags on one of the towels covering that limp body, and before she can tear it off with a growl the entire towel has moved, followed her. Shifted.

Kurt's eyes go from the pale face and glassy eyes to that towel.

He sees bare skin underneath. He sees blood and there are already bruises forming down the curved line of a broad, muscled thigh. He sees blood streaking dark and thick down that thigh, smeared between his legs. He understands suddenly that Dave is entirely naked under those towels.

Kurt's brain throws all these clues together and puts a name to what has happened.

There are pounding footsteps behind him and he assumes it's the paramedics because Sylvester would have stopped anyone else. He hears voices urging him back, and sees flashes of white uniforms around him. He reaches out and lays shaking fingers along the back of Dave's limp, outstretched hand, seeing the scratches and broken skin on the backs of his fingers.

He fought back. God, he must have fought back so hard.

For a moment those glazed hazel eyes look upward and meet Kurt's.

Then a strong grip is pulling Kurt back, and before he can focus enough to protest Mr. Schue is leading him around the corner away from everything that's happening on the other side.

Outside of the rusty air of the locker room, everything is bright and loud. Crowds of people are milling, chatting, like this disruption to their day is nothing more than a chance to socialize.

Finn comes up, practically tearing Kurt away from Mr. Schue. "Jesus, Kurt! What the hell's going on in there? You look like..."

He can't answer. He can't even look up at his wide-eyed, goofy step-brother. Finn's innocent concern feels a million miles away.

Kurt shuts his eyes and forces himself to draw in a big, solid breath of air for the first time since Mr. Schue hung up the phone in the choir room. On his exhale he can feel sobs pushing out. Since he has no idea what else to do or to say or to think, he lets them come.


	2. Chapter 2

Maybe three days after exchanging those emails with Dave Karofsky, Kurt IMed Blaine about the whole thing to get his input. Not because he had any real worry about making his ex-bully a pseudo-almost-friend, but because he wanted to know on a scale of Rachel Berry to, say, Joan Crawford, exactly how crazy was he?

He doesn't mind the idea of being insane, he just wants to be able to enjoy it for what it is.

Blaine was odd about the whole thing, though. He asked a lot of questions about how Dave was acting in the halls, and whether he smiles strangely or not, and if Kurt felt safe. Things like that.

It's clear to Kurt that Blaine thinks what Kurt didn't think – what Dave thought from the start that he _would_ think. That Dave is just stalking him in a new way.

Kurt laughed off that concern. He knows it isn't the case. "Anyway," he said into his phone when he was done playing IM tag and wanted to talk for real, "he wasn't ever stalking me before. I mean, yeah, every time he saw me he would charge, but it's not like he went around looking for me. I had to chase him down just to yell at him."

"It's your choice," Blaine said with a contained little sigh. "I just can't help thinking about the bullies I used to know, and the tricks they could pull."

Kurt laughed, though he shouldn't have. "I don't think we're allowed to stereotype bullies when we fight so hard against them stereotyping us. Dave isn't like those guys you went to school with. Unless they were all closet-cases, anyway."

He still isn't sure why he protested so hard, except...in his mind Karofsky was settling in comfortably as Dave, and Kurt was starting to feel _safe_ when he saw red in the hallways of the school. That was a new development that he wanted to hang on to.

"You know," he said into the silence on the other end of the phone, "I think he might have even danced with me at prom if I hadn't turned it into some Coming Out moment. I mean, he'd've played it off as a joke, but I think he would have."

It's strange, the things people regret in hindsight. Kurt doesn't regret taking Blaine's admittedly-stupid advice about confronting his psycho-violent bully all by his onesies, at least not now that the trauma of his first kiss is distant enough that he can dismiss it. But he does regret bringing Blaine to face Dave down in a public stairwell between classes, because even as it was happening he realized that 'public' and 'crowded' were two things a furious closet case would want to avoid if forced into a talk like that.

And he regrets telling Dave to come out at prom, because he really thinks Dave would have danced with him. He was standing beside Kurt on stage, and walking down those stairs with him to the dance floor, and he didn't hesitate once until Kurt opened his stupid let's-have-a-Lifetime-moment mouth.

Even a brief dance played off like a joke would have made a huge impact on someone as scared as Dave.

Blaine interrupted his train of thought by teasing him about his actual dance partner not being good enough for him, and they let it go.

* * *

><p>Now Kurt sits in a white room with massive, excruciatingly generic Currier and Ives prints on the walls, and he thinks about calling Blaine but he doesn't want to have to call Dave 'Karofsky' right now, and Blaine gets way too pinched when he says Dave instead.<p>

Besides, his hands won't stop shaking enough to dial a number.

Mr. Schue is over by a row of pay phones, hunched with his back turned. Finn sits beside Kurt, since he refused to leave his side after the gym. Sue Sylvester sits across from Kurt and Finn, her spine straight and her eyes sharp on everyone and everything moving around them. She's still a little more wide-eyed than normal.

Kurt can't think about how strange her reactions are compared to the Coach Sylvester that he knows. Because that means thinking about what she must have walked in on. It means wondering if she's the one who put those towels over Dave, and if so what did she see underneath? It means wondering if she came in while this...this _attack_ was happening or if Dave had to lay there on the ground in the girls' locker room, alone, hurt, waiting to be found...

It means thinking about things that make him hyperventilate.

"Easy," Finn says when he starts to tense. He leans over and nudges Kurt's arm.

Kurt lets out a breath and shakes the images from his head, turning away from Coach Sylvester and staring at a tacky pastel-dotted print of a cottage in the woods.

Hospital art. Honestly.

Mr. Schue slams the phone down suddenly, so hard that more than just Kurt and Finn turn at the sound. He comes back towards them with clouds in his face, and Coach Sylvester stands up to meet him halfway.

The elevator doors open before they can exchange words, and Kurt is distracted by the one thing that might bring a little bit of a center back to his universe.

"Dad?"

He's up before he knows it, and suddenly his dad's arms are around him and he's trying so damned hard not to sob again that he has to squeeze his eyes shut so tight that they hurt.

"Hey, kiddo." His dad sounds faintly baffled, a lot worried, but he hugs back without pause.

There's never been anything that Kurt's dad couldn't make at least a little better for him, so Kurt buries his face against his dad's chest, smelling the traces of sweat and motor oil that have hung on his dad's work clothes as far back as Kurt can remember. His dad doesn't pull away, doesn't loosen his grip. He slips one hand to the back of Kurt's neck and pats his back with the other, and Kurt wants this to make things better but it doesn't.

There are voices around him, over his head. It sounds like white noise. There are movements and he gets a little jostled but he doesn't focus on any of it. It takes his dad talking over his head to even make him aware of any of it. His dad's sharp and surprised "_What?"_ makes Kurt lift his head and blink around like he's waking up from a nightmare.

Schue and Finn stand there, furious and pale-and-awkward in turn. Behind them Coach Sylvester is now pacing, tense and wired like she's just looking for a chance to pounce on someone.

Mr. Schue talks, and Kurt has to blink hard and focus on his mouth before his brain registers the words. "-doesn't plan on coming down. That's all I know."

"Jesus," Kurt's dad mutters.

Kurt frowns. "What? What happened? Is there news?"

His dad releases him, but the hand around Kurt's neck slides to his shoulder and squeezes. He smiles, but his eyes are blazing. "Go sit down, son. Let me find out what's happening and I'll let you know."

Kurt wants to argue, but he sees from Finn's face that Finn heard it all. He steps back silently, unembarrassed when he sees the wet stain he's left over the patch with his dad's name on it.

Finn leads him back to their chairs, and Kurt speaks before they even sit. "What happened?"

Sure enough, Finn doesn't hesitate. "Mr. Schue called Karofsky's dad. I guess he isn't going to come down here?"

"What?"

Finn shrugs awkwardly, but his eyes are troubled. "Kurt...dude, did you know Karofsky's gay?"

Kurt frowns and thinks about that question, and his eyes go back to Mr. Schue and his dad and their solemn conversation. "What?" he asks again, needing time to make all these pieces fit.

"Yeah. That's what Mr. Schue said. I guess Karofsky's dad kicked him out for being queer, and he's doing this whole I-don't-have-a-son thing now. I guess Karofsky's been staying with friends the last couple of nights? I don't know, I only heard what Schue said."

"But..." Kurt looks from the adults to Finn and back again. He feels hushed and small. "But we met his dad. He was even on my side about...about everything."

Finn just shrugs. Kurt's eyes go back behind the little desk where a couple of nurses sit. The double doors behind them are where they took Dave.

"You did know."

Kurt looks back at Finn.

Finn's expression is troubled, but it's hard to tell what the cause is. There are a lot of troubling things happening around them. "You're not even surprised, except about his dad."

Kurt nods. Finn already knows, denying it won't do any good.

Finn leans in. "Is it...um." He glances towards their dad and Coach Sylvester and lowers his voice. "Is it like a _gaydar_ thing?"

Kurt gapes at him for a moment, then suddenly leans in and crushes himself against the thin faux-wooden arm of his chair so that he can grab Finn in a hug.

Finn lets out a surprised breath. He pats at Kurt's back uncertainly.

"You almost made me laugh," Kurt says into his bony shoulder. "Even now, you almost made me laugh. Thanks, Finn."

"Uh. Yeah. Don't mention it."

He lets go of his baffled stepbrother and his thin smile fades. He looks back at the double doors behind the nurses.

Eventually his dad comes over and sits beside him. Kurt can smell motor oil and it makes him want to turn and cry, wail, babble to his dad about how horrible it was and how he's never seen anything like that outside of movies...

But it's not about him. Not yet. They need to find out what's happening behind those double doors, and then he can go home and make it about himself for a while.

He really did think Paul Karofsky was a good person. A better person than his son, at least. That's what Kurt came away from their two meetings thinking. He expected Dave's dad to be a foul, ignorant bully. He almost hoped for it, to explain Dave to him in a way that made sense. But he didn't seem that way at all.

Now Dave is lost behind double doors and his dad isn't even making the drive to check on him.

A few doctors come out now and then, always making Kurt and Sylvester and Mr. Schue tense expectantly. But it's maybe two hours after Burt Hummel arrived that one of those doctors speaks quietly to the front desk nurse and she nods him towards the waiting group.

Kurt is on his feet in a moment, but Sue Sylvester beats him over there.

"Well?"

The doctor thankfully doesn't smile or make small talk or even bother asking if they're here for Dave. He looks around at them and speaks solemnly. "Who here is family?"

Kurt doesn't even have time to panic about none of them being related, or to think about lying in order to get news, before a voice answers confidently. "I am."

He has to fist his hands to keep from gaping over at Coach Sylvester.

The doctor reaches out for her arm and nods her towards the back, and somehow she doesn't brush him off.

Kurt opens his mouth too late to add himself to the lie, but Mr. Schue reaches out and touches his shoulder. "She'll tell us what she finds out."

He sounds sure of those words, but Kurt knows Coach Sylvester. Why would she tell anyone anything? Why is she even here? The closest thing Kurt has seen to a soft side from that woman – aside from anything having to do with her sister – is when she took his side _against _Dave.

No. He can't wonder. Can't think about it. It makes him think of bloody towels on the floor of the locker room. It makes him wonder what she saw, how it must have been truly horrible to shake someone like her up so badly.

He shuts his eyes and turns away from the doors. He can't help but see an outstretched hand with torn fingernails and gashes in the knuckles. He can't help but think about the amount of blood streaking between broad, bare legs.

Dave is so _strong_. Kurt is thin and not the tallest boy in the world, but he isn't insubstantial. When Dave was Karofsky he would fling Kurt around like he didn't weigh an ounce. He's strong, and he's big. He must have fought back. Who could have taken on someone like Dave Karofsky? Who could have held him down, resisted his punches?

Was there more than one of them? Did someone hold him down while someone else...?

God.

Did he shout for help or was he muffled? Did he lay there alone or did Sue Sylvester of all people come in soon enough to break up whatever was happening? Why did he say Kurt's name? Why did he get her to ask for Kurt? Why did any of this fucking _happen?_

He's shaking, badly, and suddenly his dad is right there and Kurt doesn't realize that he's crying again until he feels the dampness of his dad's shirt against his cheek. He clings, grasping at his dad, seeing Dave's glazed eyes and Dave's shy smile in the hallway, and thinking about always seeing a hint of red in his peripherals when he moves down the halls lately.

They haven't talked, not since those emails. They should have. Kurt has his email address – he should have written to him. Kurt should have known that he was thrown out of his house. He shouldn't have left him on his own to deal with it.

No one has so much as called Kurt names in the last week. Dave has kept him safe, beret or no beret. Even before the emails. Even at prom. The election was a humiliation, but the students clapped when Kurt took his crown, and they joined in when he danced with his boyfriend.

And Dave ran out alone, because Kurt couldn't keep his smug mouth shut.

God. _God, _Kurt isn't religious and he knows no one answers to that name, but other people put so much power in the word and so he thinks it to himself. God, Jesus. Christ. Why, why, why?

* * *

><p>His dad is making noises about them leaving, about dinner and homework and a whole world that apparently exists outside of the hospital waiting room.<p>

But the double doors open and a pale Sue Sylvester strides out, and she heads for Kurt without asking anyone's okay. "I told them they should let one of his friends in."

Kurt pulls away from his dad and Finn, getting to his feet without being aware of his body moving. He stares at her, and she's still pale and her mouth is set tightly and he reaches out when she offers her hand and she tugs him back away from his family, back towards those double doors.

His dad makes a soft sound of uncertain protest behind him, but Kurt doesn't hesitate.

He does pause when the doors shut behind him, when he's safely inside the inner hallway. Coach Sylvester stops and looks back at him, dropping his hand like even in this state she's still afraid to seem too soft.

"Is he...awake?"

She frowns. "No. Pumped full of Lohan-level drugs. Come on, Porcelain."

"Why...why me?"

She seems annoyed at not being obeyed, or maybe just impatient to get back. She looks down the hallway and hisses out a breath.

When she moves in close he can't help but tense. "He thought you were next on their list. He was sure. That's why he asked for you at the school, that's why you need to come say something to him now. I don't know and I don't care when you two started giving a crap for each other. I don't care if you still hate his guts or if everything that ever happened between you was some depraved domestic abuse issue. All I care about is that what he was scared of when I found him was something happening to _you. _Now come on before I pick you up and carry you."

He goes when she leads. He's back to that thin, shallow breathing he couldn't stop back in school.

The ward isn't like what he used to watch on Scrubs. There's a lot of equipment but the rooms aren't rooms, just little closets partitioned off by thin curtains. Some of the curtains are left open, and he looks in at people laying on thin cots, and worried women holding the hands of old ladies, and he has to imagine what's behind the curtains that are closed.

Coach Sylvester stops in front of one drawn curtain. Her frenetic pace stills and she draws in a breath. Stealing herself.

Kurt doesn't have time to do the same before her thin, calloused fingers have looped around his wrist and he's being pulled in behind the curtain with her.

He wants to do this slowly, but there's nothing to look at in there except the bed and so that's where his eyes instantly go.

Dave dwarfs the cot. His feet hang off the end of it, his shoulders are nearly too broad to fit across. There's a thin sheet over him, pulled up over his arms and shoulders and leaving only his head uncovered. He breathes, and a machine beside him moves up and down and a screen blips with his heartbeat as a display of numbers goes up and down, up and down, but unlike what Kurt knows from tv it's all completely silent.

His head is covered with a bandage, and Kurt remembers how his hair glittered so wetly in the dim locker room lighting. His lip is swollen, his jaw is red and there's a raw scraped patch of skin on his chin. His eyes are both dark with bruises. There's a tube going down his throat and Kurt wants to ask why. Wants to ask if he stopped breathing or if it has to do with the drugs they gave him or what. He wants to know everything.

He steps up close to the cot, looking down at this oversize meathead and his swollen, discolored face.

All he can think about is Dave smiling at him in the hallway that first day after their emails. Himself, so smug, so enlightened, deciding that he's big enough to call the guy by his first name, and Dave smiling back as if he likes the idea but he's too shy to say so out loud.

He doesn't know Dave Karofsky at all.

They should have talked. He should have emailed. He should have thanked Dave for following him, for watching his back, even if he didn't think it was owed to him.

They should have _danced _together.

He swallows and reaches out. Dave's arms and hands are under the sheet so Kurt contents himself to lay his hand lightly on his shoulder. Maybe he isn't hurt there, maybe it's safe to touch.

"Is he going to be okay?" he asks, wishing that Dave's eyes would open so that he could see the green of them that he never noticed before today. He thought they were nothing but brown. He didn't ever see the startling hazel.

Coach Sylvester answers slowly, like she's stirring from her own deep thoughts. "He isn't dying," she says stiffly.

"I know what happened," Kurt says, stroking anxious fingertips down Dave's shoulder as if it will offer any kind of comfort. "I saw. When the towel fell..." He swallows.

"Then what do you want me to say?" she snaps back, and he somehow knows that the tension in her voice isn't dangerous. Not for him, anyway.

"Whatever the doctor said," he answers, and he can't move his eyes from Dave.

"He's got a concussion," she says, fast and resentful. "They hit his head hard with something."

He nods, picturing the bloody dent in the wall.

"Broken nose. Dislocated both his shoulders. Cracked ribs, none broken by some miracle. A lot of cuts and bruises."

Then she hesitates.

He still can't look at her, which probably helps them both.

"They tore his...tore the muscle pretty damned bad, but the doctor doesn't think he's got any...any internal..." She lets out a breath.

Then he understands which muscle they tore. He shuts his eyes, remembering bare legs and blood. He doesn't realize he's shaking until her hand falls on his shoulder to still him.

"You two friends?" she asks, despite her earlier claim not to care.

They aren't friends, really. They aren't anything. Everything they were to each other no longer applies. Still, he nods.

"Then take a few minutes and talk to your friend. I don't care if he can hear you or not." Her hand slides off and footsteps take her away, but he turns suddenly before she can draw the curtain.

"What did you see?" he asks, sudden and startling even to him.

She stiffens. She doesn't look back. "They were running when I got there," she says simply, and then she's out of sight on the other side of the curtain.

They. More than one. _They_, but...but Kurt is glad that Dave wasn't left alone, hurt and scared, before she found him.

He turns back to the bed. There's a chair against the wall, nearly lost in the equipment around it, and he pulls it up to the side of the bed.

It's not quiet enough. The machines don't beep or anything, but he can hear footsteps, voices. That curtain is no real barrier between them and the world.

Coach Sylvester ordered him to talk, but he has nothing to say. There is absolutely nothing, until he remembers why she asked for him in the first place.

"I'm here," he says, whispers, to Dave's slack face. "I'm okay. Nobody's coming after me." He draws in a breath and tries to stop his voice from shaking. "You kept me safe, just like you promised."

If this was any other day he would be horrified by the fresh tears. Constantly-sobbing-and-dramatic is one of those gay stereotypes he doesn't like to embody. He's shed a lot of tears in seventeen years, but each of them was earned. Each of them was for something big. And so he isn't embarrassed, because his dad throwing Finn out of their house for calling Kurt's room decor faggy is nothing compared to this. For all the drama and tension at McKinley High School, this is a level of reality that makes everything else pale in comparison.

Kurt cried for Coach Sylvester when her sister died. He cried at his father's bedside after his heart attack. Those are the only things he can think of that rate close.

That this can happen to _anyone_ is jarring. That he saw it with his own two eyes, saw the limp aftermath of it, is _horrible_. That it's someone he knows, someone with a huge temper and a mountain of fear, and a shy smile, and an apparent hatred for using apostrophes in his emails...the only other gay boy at McKinley that Kurt knows about...

There aren't words.

He hopes for movement, hopes for the shifting of eyelids at least, but there's nothing. He sits for a while, occasionally letting Dave know that he's there and he's okay, in case Dave can hear him. But after a while the curtain pushes back and a long shadow falls over the bed.

"Time to go, Porcelain. Your dad thinks I'm traumatizing you keeping you back here."

Kurt snorts, a cynical and harsh sound. His dad is too late to stop the trauma, and it didn't happen at the hospital.

Sylvester nods her agreement of that snort, but she stays by the open curtain until he stands up and leaves the bed behind.

"Someone should stay," Kurt says as they move down the hall.

"Don't worry, kid," she answers grimly. "Nobody's kicking Aunt Sue out of here."

The good thing about knowing the dark side of Sue Sylvester is that Kurt knows she's right. No one can move her when she wants to stay put.

* * *

><p>He's got two messages and five texts from Blaine when he remembers he has a phone, and he only has to read the first one to see that Blaine found out something happened.<p>

He calls, sitting on his bed and clutching the phone tightly.

_"Kurt, thank God, are you okay? I'm worried sick over here."_

Maybe he's all cried out, because Blaine's honest concern doesn't do more than make him feel tired. "I'm fine. Nothing happened to me."

_"Mercedes said she had to call the police? That someone left school in an ambulance, and that you never came back to class?"_

He frowns, leaning back against the wall behind his bed. "She didn't say anything more?"

_"She didn't know! Nobody knows, I guess. She said there's a rumor that a bunch of football players missed the rest of school, but...Come on! What happened? Did they try something? Did someone hurt you, or-"_

"I said I was fine, Blaine." He doesn't meant for that to come out so sharply, but he doesn't take it back. "Look, I'll tell you everything tomorrow, promise. I'm just really exhausted right now, okay?"

Blaine says "Fine," and it's only a little edged. Kurt hangs up with a sigh, but a moment later his phone buzzes with a text and he reads:

_I love you, remember that. Get some sleep._

And he smiles.

* * *

><p>That night he dreams about a football game in slow motion, the cheering crowd and the chants of the Cheerios. For some reason it's being played inside the gym, and even as he sits there watching and clapping he somehow knows that behind the doors going to the locker rooms, someone is screaming. Someone is yelling for help, and nobody in the whole world can hear them.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Everyone at McKinley High School knows everything about everyone else's business. That's the way it is, that's the way it's always been. Either through gossip, or Jacob's obnoxiously invasive blog, or because half of the deeply personal things that happen in their lives seem to happen in the hallways between classes.

When Kurt wanders through the halls that next day, though, he is surprised to see that no one has a really solid idea of what happened yesterday.

Everyone know about the ambulance. Everyone knows that a handful of football players didn't show up for their afternoon classes. Some people seem to know that Dave Karofsky was involved, but no one knows how.

Coach Sylvester isn't in school that day, but no one can put together how it fits in so the gossip mill decides it must be unrelated.

Even Finn, though he knows Dave is hurt and in the hospital, doesn't know exactly what happened. And maybe he even keeps his mouth shut about what he _does _know, because Kurt's dazed wandering carries him to lunch with the usual glee crowd, and everyone there is just as confused.

"Beiste is pissed," Puck is saying as Kurt sits down, empty-handed, far from hungry. "Like half the football team took off yesterday, and even more of them are out today." He leans in, talking to Santana and Finn but hardly keeping his voice down. "I heard they killed somebody. Like, some shit went down and things got _serious_, and now they're all sticking together about it."

Finn glances at Kurt.

Kurt stares at his lap.

"Come on. Half the team?" Santana is dubious.

"I'm not saying they were all involved," Puck goes on. "They're circling the wagons, you know? That's what we call it. Like some John Wayne shit. I mean...last year, right? Some of us got a little crazy after we lost to Sheldonberg, and maybe the Sheldonberg coach's house got a little...um. Set on fire."

"What?" Lauren leans in at that, a smile in her voice. "Really?"

Puck shrugs. "The old flaming bag of shit on the porch joke. Kind of backfired. Anyway, whatever, we had to drive two fucking hours to get there and two more to get back, so we know right away that Figgins is gonna hear about what happened and he's gonna be on the lookout for which of us on the team didn't get any sleep the night before. So...we circle the wagons. Spread the word that anyone who could should miss school the next day. That way they couldn't figure out who it was, and they couldn't blame it on every player who stayed home since it was like eighty percent of their team."

He sits back, surveying his listeners. "Same shit they're doing today, I bet you anything. I bet there was a fucking battle yesterday, and some of the guys are pretty banged up and they know Figgy and Beiste will be looking for that, so they'll stay home and their boys'll stay home until the bruises heal."

"That's relatively clever, in a sick kind of way." Lauren sits back, looking like she's even more pleased with her boyfriend in general in the face of such underhanded plotting.

Kurt wants to throw up.

* * *

><p>Before he left the hospital he gave Coach Sylvester his cell phone number, and he's been holding the thing in his hand all morning waiting for news.<p>

What he gets are a lot of angry messages about how doctors are bastards and some nurse she's dubbed The Cryptkeeper keeps making her leave the room. She texts him about the evils of hospital art - which he is obviously more than aware of already - and sends three entire full texts about how she almost punched some doctor right in his chubby pre-teen Doogie Howser face when he suggested she spend some time down in the hospital chapel.

Her messages are awkward enough that he thinks she doesn't spend a lot of time texting people, but he reads each one carefully and tries not to read too much into what she's not telling him.

Those texts are the only thing he can focus on, besides the roar of McKinley's unsatisfied gossip mills, and after the first five minutes of lunch he's so done with gossip and giggles that Kurt actually leaves and goes to the _library_ to escape it. Not his favorite place in the word – far too stifling for someone like him – but no one will look for him here.

He signs on to one of the ancient desktops in the computer lab and checks his email, moving on autopilot. Blaine's sent him a couple of emails today, and that's just strange. Blaine knows to text him during school hours. Email isn't Kurt's favorite means of communication by far.

He clicks open the first one Blaine sent and sees at once that it would have taken a lot of texts to get this across.

_Kurt,_

_I know that you'll think I'm being alarmist and melodramatic, but let me explain to you why I was so worried about you last night, and why I really do insist that you call me the moment school gets out to tell me what happened there yesterday. __You're right in saying that we ought not stereotype our abusers any more than they ought to stereotype us, but I can tell you a few things about boys like David Karofsky._

Kurt stops there. He scans the next paragraphs and sees Karofsky's name mentioned more than once. Blaine thinks Dave is stalking him, and apparently he's so tense about the situation that he all but wants proof that whatever happened yesterday wasn't about Dave going psycho.

Kurt shuts the email.

His eyes wander to the sidebar, to his own cleverly-named 'WTF?' folder, wherein is stored many a strange or otherwise unclassifiable email. Knowing what's in there at the top of the inbox, he goes into that folder. He stares at 'thisiswhereyousendmeemails' and his brain takes him back to the hospital.

He wonders if that tube is still in Dave's throat. How long do they keep those things in?

It's too quiet in the library, but it's too loud everywhere else. So he stays where he is, and he gives in to his self-flagellating mood and clicks on the last email in the chain so that he can skim back and read them all.

He doesn't get past the last one, though, the one he sent back to Dave that Dave never responded to. He reads it through, and reads it again, and then he stares at just the first line and he can't get past it.

_'...if you do it, what's the very worst that could happen?'_

Dave's email right before this one, Kurt remembers, is where Dave told him that his life wasn't like Kurt's, and that his coming out wouldn't be anything like Kurt's coming out. And this was Kurt's answer. What's the worst that could happen?

In the email he tells Dave he isn't trying to be flippant, but in reality...when he typed it, he almost was being flippant. Because really, what _is _the worst that could happen to a huge hamhock jock like Dave Karofsky? The worst things that ever happened to Kurt were because of guys like Dave, so of course Dave had nothing at all to worry about. No one was going to slushy Dave Karofsky. No one was going to elbow-check him into the lockers.

Not without a hell of a lot of back-up, anyway.

Kurt's this thin little thing who hates to get his hands dirty and his clothes wrinkled. Surely..._surely _Dave the football player jock wouldn't have nearly the same level of problems Kurt did.

_'But thats bullshit.' _He reads Dave's last email, and somewhere in his chest it feels like things are caving in bit by bit. _'My life isnt anything like yours.'_

Everyone wants to believe that things are different for them. Everyone wants to think they're some exception. Kurt didn't pay those words any attention, because of course a guy scared of coming out is going to assume the worst from the people around him. Dave knew, though. He knows things about his own father that Kurt doesn't know, he knows more about jock mentality than someone like Kurt ever will. Dave knew things would go badly.

Why did he do it, then?

_'what's the very worst that could happen?'_

The library is dead silent around him - everyone is probably at lunch. There's no one around to hear Kurt's breathing tighten, to watch him read over the same emails again and again, paler and more horrified each time. There's no one there to witness the moment that Kurt understands. The moment he realizes that everything that's happened, everything he has seen, this callous, unreal violence and horror...

It's his own fault.

_'Sometimes I hate my fucking life so much I think of doing some really stupid things.'_

There's no one there to shush him when a strangled sound escapes his throat, when he reads Dave's words and realizes that this is a guy who thought about...what, hurting himself? Killing himself? Even before this awful thing happened.

He tears his eyes from the screen and pulls out his phone, typing a fast and badly-spelled text to his dad before he can stop enough to think about it.

_Dad I thnk he needs somewere to go._

He sends the message and then stares at his phone, at the bright cheerful clock and the Gaga wallpaper.

Blaine. He should call Blaine. He should talk to someone, because even when Kurt has felt alone with his problems, he has always had people to talk to about them. And he's always relied on that.

Mercedes, maybe. Or Blaine. Blaine loves him.

His phone vibrates in his hands. He focuses on it and sees it's his dad calling, and he closes his email and signs out of the computer as he answers.

"Dad?"

_"What class are you skipping sending me texts, Kurt?" _

"None." Kurt shuts off the computer screen and hauls his bag over his shoulder. "Lunch, it's just lunch."

"_Oh." _His dad hesitates. There's noise coming in through the phone, rumbling and the sounds of banging and low voices. The sound of the garage in the middle of a busy shift. "_I hate texts, kid, you know that. So what do you mean by this one? _Who _needs somewhere to go?"_

"Dave. When he gets out." Kurt moves out of the library, nearly running into a timid little freshman girl who squeaks past him without a word. "When he gets out of the hospital, dad. He has to have somewhere to go."

_"I'm sure someone's taking care of that." _His dad sounds wary already.

Kurt pushes through a side exit door and stops suddenly, squinting out at the sudden light everywhere. There's a small group of kids in the student parking lot, a crowd standing around trying to act like the wafts of smoke coming up from the middle of the group aren't painfully obvious.

They're far enough away that Kurt keeps talking. He slings his backpack to the ground and sits on the stop step, looking towards the crowd just in case they decide to approach him or the door.

"You heard Mr. Schue, his own dad isn't going to come get him. Who's supposed to look out for him now?"

_"His teachers, I guess. Maybe he's got other family around, or...Kurt, I don't get it. Where's this coming from? I know you saw more than you should have yesterday, but that doesn't make this kid a friend of yours suddenly."_

"Dad-"

_"I don't have amnesia. I remember exactly who Dave Karofsky is and exactly what he's done, so don't talk around this. Why are you acting like he's your responsibility to deal with?"_

"He's gay." The words come out before Kurt can stop them, but he looks around to make sure no one but his dad heard, and he doesn't regret saying it. Dave came out to his dad, it isn't a secret anymore. And Kurt trusts his dad like he doesn't trust a single other living person.

_"Yeah. I heard what Schuester said about his father yesterday. But that still doesn't make you his keeper." _

"He's gay and I've been...helping him. Trying to help him. Because he was scared, and he doesn't...and that's why he was so cruel to me. But he's been..." Kurt slumps, rubbing at his face and holding the phone tight against his ear.

The sounds from his dad's end have cut off, but he can hear the faintest whirring noise. The fan, back in the tiny, dingy office in the back of the garage. Kurt shuts his eyes and can practically see his dad, sitting down behind the small desk and its ancient computer and the growing pile of the day's receipts.

His dad doesn't say anything, and Kurt draws in a breath and keeps his eyes shut to hold on to that image, so he can pretend his dad is right there.

"This is my fault, dad." Kurt whispers the confession, slumping and staring at the concrete sidewalk. "I told him...I pushed him. I never let it go. Any time he wanted to talk about anything, I always said...I always told him 'come out'. Like it would make everything better. And his dad kicked him out and he didn't even tell me, and someone here must have found out too."

_"How do you know that?" _his dad asks, sounding tired.

"They must have. No one here messes with Dave. No one except the hockey team, but not even them lately. The football team won the championship, Dave's prom king. He's on top, dad. No one messes with the guy on top, not at McKinley. Not unless they have a reason."

_"Kurt. Son...I heard what Sylvester said at the hospital, okay? I really don't think this was some kind of high school grudge match or something. Just because it happened at the school doesn't mean it had anything to do with-"_

"It was someone on the football team. Everyone knows it, they're all laughing about it like it's some prank." His eyes are burning again, but Kurt ignores that with a flare of irritation. "They found out about him, I know it. Maybe he told them. I kept saying 'come out'. I said..." He shut his eyes. "I said 'what's the worst that could happen?' And then his dad kicked him out and someone at school knows and he..."

_"Calm down, Kurt. You don't know that any of that has anything to do with him being beat up, okay?"_

Kurt knows he's going to say it before he does, but even then his own words surprise him. "Dad, he didn't just get beat up. They raped him."

He stops then, instantly cold all over like he got hit by a giant invisible slushy.

There's a really good chance, he realizes absurdly, that he's never said that word out loud before. Ever.

_"Kurt..." _his dad says, sounding strangled.

Kurt's eyes are wide open. His heart is beating way too fast. He lays a hand on his chest, looking blankly out towards the parking lot. "I saw it," he says, hushed, and though he admitted that he saw it to Coach Sylvester this is like an entirely different thing. "She tried to cover him up, but one of the towels slipped. I saw it. All the blood, and..."

_"Jesus _Christ_."_

"It was my fault, dad. He was just lying there and everything was bloody, and...they just left him there on the floor without any clothes, and she had to cover him with towels but one slipped off and I saw it. When she went to...when the ambulance came. And Mr. Schue told me to leave but I couldn't. I had to stay with him, dad. How could I leave when..."

"_I'm coming to get you, Kurt."_

"And they wouldn't have...even when they hate each other here, no one would have done _that_. Not unless they knew. It was kids here, dad. Someone on the team with him. More than one. And they..."

_"Where are you? Are you with your friends?" _

"What?"

_"Kurt. Listen to me." _There's more motion now on his dad's end, a sound like an engine starting. _"You go find Finn, okay? You listening?"_

"Finn?" Kurt shakes his head, confused, shaking a little. Still chilled all over. "What about Finn?"

_"You go find Finn right now. I don't care where he is, I don't care if he's in class or not. You go find him and you stay with him until I get there." _

Kurt frowns, but he's already grabbed his bookbag and he gets to his feet. He turns back to the door leading into the school, but remembers why he texted his dad to begin with and hesitates.

"He's going to need somewhere to stay, dad. When he gets out."

_"We'll talk to his teachers. I'll talk to his dad. I'll do whatever the hell you want me to do, kid, as long as you go find Finn right now. You hear me? You find him and you give him the phone and you stay with him until I'm there."_

Kurt moves through the doors and down the hall. He only lasted five minutes in the cafeteria with all the gossip and mindless chatter, but he heads back there because his dad told him to. He walks in a fog, listening to the sounds of his dad speeding through traffic through the phone. He walks through the doors to the lunchroom and stumbles through the laughing, talking crowds.

He sees Puck's mohawk and he heads over. There's the table of familiar faces smiling towards him, but his eyes slip past all of them. He moves right up to Finn and stretches out the phone and stays right there.

After a while Finn hands him the phone back, and he looks down to see that there's no one there. His dad must have hung up to finish the drive.

Finn throws an arm around Kurt's shoulder and shoots him a careful look, but other than pulling him in close he doesn't force Kurt in to anything. He turns back to Puck and goes on with whatever they were talking about before. He even tells Mercedes to butt out when she tries getting Kurt's attention.

Sometimes Kurt loves Finn so much he can't imagine how he lived without a stepbrother for so long.

* * *

><p>Kurt understands distantly, in some coherent side of his brain that's currently not the part that's driving, that he might be freaking out a little bit. He doesn't think there's anything strange in that, though. He's never seen Mr Schue as angry as he was yesterday, and he's sure never seen Coach Sylvester the way she has been.<p>

Things like this don't happen every day. Somewhere in the world they do, maybe, but not in Lima. Not at McKinley.

He doesn't wonder why Sylvester is playing Mama Bear for a student she's never liked. The answer is on the floor of a locker room. He doesn't have to ask Mr. Schue why he's so furious at that student's father. The answer is laying in an undersized hospital cot.

Here's the truth as Kurt sees it: he could watch a million documentaries about Stonewall and Matthew Shepard and the times when AIDS was still called Gay Cancer, but none of that is as real as hearing the word 'faggot' from a person who's sneering at Kurt when he says it.

Nothing is real, _nothing_, unless it's right there. Death in movies is all stuntmen and corn syrup blood. The bloodiest fistfights become Special Features on DVDs, where actors giggle about how much fun it is to choreograph those kinds of scenes. Rape is a Jodie Foster movie. Rape is Deliverance, and squealing like a pig, and jokes about dropping the soap in the shower. And even when it's serious, it isn't real. It's not close enough to be real.

What happened yesterday is violence and homophobia and rape. And it's real. It's on the floor, it's a dent in the wall that must still be there. It's a person with a face and a name and green in his eyes, and Kurt saw it from inches away.

Kurt is living it. Not like Dave is, but he's living it all the same.

* * *

><p>His dad doesn't say much when he comes to the school. He signs Kurt out and tucks him into the car, and they start driving. When they take the off-ramp towards the hospital without his even having to ask, he wants to lean over and hug his dad. But he sits there and watches the hospital come into view and he doesn't move.<p>

Dave's been moved to a room, to something more Scrubs-like than the little alcove he was in the day before, and they have to ask a couple of different places before they find it.

"We need to talk," his dad says grimly to Sue Sylvester when they finally find her. Odds are about fifty-fifty that his dad either wants to yell at the coach about exactly how much Kurt saw while under the supervision of teachers, or he wants to talk to her about where Dave goes from here, the way he promised Kurt he would.

Probably both, actually.

Kurt can't bring himself to care. He'd rather his dad skip the yelling, but if there's a woman in the world who can hold her own it's Sue Sylvester. Either way, he doesn't pay them any more attention than he has to. He sends Coach Sylvester a pleading look from behind his dad.

She nods him down the hallway. "317. I put you on the VIP list, Porcelain, they'll let you in."

He goes without thanking her, but he knows she'll understand that.

* * *

><p>He didn't ask her how Dave was, and he only realizes that when he pushes open a door with 317 on it in brassy numbers, and a pair of eyes turn his way.<p>

Dave is awake. Awake and half upright in one of those adjustable beds with a mound of pillows behind him. His head is still wrapped, his eyes are still bruised. He looks horrible, but better than he did.

Kurt didn't plan for him to be awake. He has no idea what to do, or say.

Dave stares at him, his eyes oddly bright against the darkened skin around them.

Kurt hesitates in the doorway, but steps in and lets the door shut behind him. He clears his throat, uncertain. "I was going to bring flowers," he says finally, trying to inject a little of his usual flavor into his voice. "But it seemed a little trite."

There's a television on the wall, and almost on cue a tinny burst of studio laughter wafts over. Dave's eyes go to the tv screen. His hand comes up with a remote and he shuts it off. His fingers are wrapped up in bandages. For his knuckles, Kurt thinks. Maybe he broke some bones. It's easy to do when punching, or so he's heard.

Kurt's throat works. He moves in, watching as Dave sets the remote back on the bed by his legs. Dave doesn't move beyond that, though, his eyes still focused on the silent TV.

Kurt opens his mouth, then shuts it. He hovers near the foot of the bed when Dave still doesn't look at him. He thinks about asking him how he's feeling, but when he tries to form the words he realizes how ridiculous they'll sound echoing through this quiet room.

There are a couple of chairs against the wall. One of them has Coach Sylvester's track coat flung over it. Kurt goes to the other one and hesitates before he pulls it closer to the bed.

As he sits, Dave speaks. "I wonder..." It's a gravelly choke, and he clears his throat.

Kurt leans in, watching his profile, waiting.

"Wonder why you're the one who keeps finding out all my secrets." He almost smiles, but Kurt's pretty sure that it isn't anything like happiness or humor that quirks the corner of his mouth upwards.

Sylvester must have already talked to him. She already told Dave that Kurt knows everything that happened. It's a relief. There's no good way to bring that kind of thing up in conversation, and Kurt doesn't want to pretend he doesn't know.

"I didn't find out about your dad," Kurt answers quietly, laying his hands lightly on the side of the bed. It's a full bed this time, at least, not something that looks like it can't handle Dave laying on it. "Not until yesterday."

Dave stares at the black TV screen. "He hasn't..." He stops, his throat working. He looks down at his hands, at the sheet covering most of him. The bandages on most of his fingers go all the way up over his fingernails.

He doesn't finish whatever he started to say. He glances over at Kurt, but it's a quick look and nothing more. The bruises on his face make the rest of him look really pale, and the bandage that covers most of his hair makes him seem almost like a stranger.

"There's a guy. A cop." Dave stares at his hands, flexing his bandaged fingers absently. "Wants me to press charges, call it a crime."

"You..." Kurt blinks, because he didn't realize there was any alternative to calling this a crime. "You have to."

Dave swallows. He sinks back against the pillows, his eyes going upwards. "There's some kit they did. Evidence or whatever. Something they did when I got here. I was knocked out, they didn't even ask me if..." He looks like he's fighting a few different emotions. "Cop says I can decide later."

"Dave." Kurt leans in.

Dave looks over at him. His eyes seem dull and brown, flat. No green. No life. "Sing me something, Fancy."

"What?"

"That's what you do, right? That's Schuester's big solution for everyone's problems."

"Do you..." Kurt holds his breath. "Do you know who it was?"

Dave's eyes go back upwards. His face creases, his lips press together tightly.

He nods.

Kurt lets out his breath and reaches over, laying his hand on the sheet near Dave's. He doesn't want to touch - there are rules about that, he thinks, rules about touching people who were hurt like Dave was? He doesn't know them, but he's always been a physical person and it's impossible to not reach out.

Dave tenses, his eyes shutting tightly. His head drops to the side, facing away from Kurt, but his fingers shift on the sheet until their fingers brush together, and the entire bed shivers when he fights back a sob.

Kurt has cried too many times already. He swallows back his own feelings and lays his palm over Dave's bigger, bandaged hand. He can't think of anything happy, so he clears his throat and sings what he _can _think of.

_"All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces.  
>Bright and early for the daily races, going nowhere, going nowhere.<br>Their tears are filling up their glasses, no expression, no expression.  
>Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow, no tomorrow, no tomorrow..."<em>

Dave's other hand goes to his face, and he hides himself from view as much as he can as his tears come.

Kurt's words slide, the tune goes flat for a few measures, but he draws in a deep breath and slides his left hand out, grasping Dave's hand with both of his gently at first, then tighter when Dave seems to cling back.

He sings, and it isn't the solution to any problem at all, but it's what Kurt does.

_"I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad; t__he dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.  
><em>_I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take. W__hen people run in circles its a very, very  
>Mad world..."<em>


	4. Chapter 4

"You're not going to school tomorrow," Kurt's dad says on the way home from the hospital.

Kurt, who's been staring at his hands in his lap, studying the thin red imprints caused by Dave's bandaged hand clutching his so hard, looks over. "What?"

His dad is clutching the steering wheel, staring straight ahead down the narrow highway. "You're not going back there. Not until the kids who did this are caught. And it's not something I'm prepared to argue with you about, Kurt, so...it's not open for debate."

Kurt frowns. "I've got...tests, and-"

"And they have an obligation to keep their students safe. Until they get their act together, I could give a damn about their tests." He glances over at Kurt. "I talked to your coach. She says there are cops involved and Figgins is already on top of things, so it shouldn't be long. But if you're right, if they hurt this kid so bad just because he's gay, you really think I'm going to send you back while they're still around?"

Kurt hesitates. He's almost surprised that until this moment he didn't actually think about himself as a target.

"It could have been you, Kurt." His dad is staring straight ahead again, and he speaks those words as if from moment one it's _all _he's thought about. "Now I may not be able to protect you from everything that's ever gonna hurt you, but I'm pretty sure that when there are monsters at your school attacking gay kids and putting them in the hospital, I'm allowed to keep you away from that."

Kurt studies his dad's profile.

"Gonna argue? Because I'm in a really weird mood right now, kid. I can't promise it'll go well."

"No," he says, watching his dad's fingers around the steering wheel. His knuckles are white, he's clutching so hard. "I won't argue."

His dad nods, but doesn't speak.

Kurt hasn't given himself any thought. He hasn't given any thought to the fact that whoever did this is still out there. And that's strange: Kurt - who is very aware of his flaws as much as his strengths - can tend towards being self-absorbed.

"I'm gonna drop you off at home," his dad says suddenly, still staring straight out like he can't lose focus for a moment. "I've got something I need to do. Finn won't be home for a few more hours. Are you gonna be okay alone for a while?"

"Where are you going?"

His dad hesitates. "You're not coming."

Kurt looks over. "Dad. Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna go have a talk with Paul Karofsky."

Kurt sits back, looking at his hands though the red lines have all vanished. "I'm going."

"What did I just say?"

Kurt pictures Dave in his bed, the moment Kurt mentioned his dad, the pause that came and went before Dave changed the subject by mentioning the policeman who was trying to talk him into pressing charges. Kurt's confusion lingers - Paul Karofsky seemed so understanding. He didn't seem to care what Kurt was, he took Kurt's word against his own son.

Kurt draws in a breath and nods to himself. "I'm going."

"The hell you-"

"Dad." Kurt twists in his seat enough to face his dad. "I get it, okay? You want to protect me and you couldn't. Not from this, so now you're trying to keep everything else away from me. I get that, but...but you can't."

His dad doesn't miss a beat. He glances through the rearview mirror, flicks on the turn signal, and slides off the highway onto the dirt shoulder, pulling them to a stop. He shifts the car into park and looks over at Kurt.

"It's too late," Kurt says before his dad can say anything. "I'm involved now. The moment I saw him on the ground I was involved, and you can't keep me from knowing what's happening now or I'll never be able to deal with it."

His dad shakes his head, his eyes pained.

"It's not your fault, dad." Kurt leans in, letting his backpack fall to the floor in front of his seat. "Maybe Mr. Schue shouldn't have taken me with him to the gym yesterday, but he didn't know what was going on. Maybe Coach Sylvester shouldn't have mentioned me when she called him for help, but she was a little freaked out and she said Dave was saying my name."

He swallows, trying not to think about that part of it. There is way too much inside his head waiting to be freaked out over, he can't keep adding to the list.

But he's started this little argument, he has to see it through. "Dave was scared they would come after me next. That's why he asked about me. You can't blame him for that. He promised me he'd keep me safe, dad, and..." Kurt shakes his head - he's getting sidetracked.

He draws in a steeling breath. "I'm involved now, and it isn't anybody's fault. I can't help Dave or even deal with what I saw enough to help myself unless I know what's happening. I need to see this through, and I can. I can handle it."

His dad shakes his head, but a little less vehemently. "I don't know if I can handle you handling it, Kurt."

Kurt meets his eyes and smiles, faint but clear. "I'm strong, dad. You've always let me be strong. Don't stop now when I really need it."

There's a pause. His dad sags back against the seat and frowns at the road ahead of them.

"I know you're worried," Kurt says quietly. "But...can you help me worry about Dave for a while, instead of worrying about me? Even if they hurt him because he's gay like me, it still happened to him. Not me."

His dad shakes his head, his jaw tight, but throws the car into drive and pulls them back out onto the road.

A minute later they're passing the exit that would have taken them home, and Kurt lets out a small sigh and sits back.

"Stubborn kid." His dad watches the coming exits for wherever he needs to turn off to get to the Karofsky house. "But you're staying in the car."

Kurt hesitates, but nods. It's not everything he wanted, but he'll learn more even in the car than he would have at home. And his dad's hands are still shaking, so maybe this is a good time for a compromise.

* * *

><p>It's a nice house. A wide spread, two stories, a neatly trimmed yard and a new car in the driveway. Kurt thinks he heard somewhere that Dave's dad is a lawyer, but he wouldn't swear to it. The man makes money, that's pretty clear.<p>

Kurt's dad walks right up to the door and knocks so hard that Kurt can hear it in the car. After a minute the door opens, and after another pause Kurt's dad moves inside. The door shuts, and everything falls still and silent outside.

Kurt reaches for his backpack, digging out his phone and sitting back in the passenger seat.

Blaine, Mercedes, Finn. Blaine again.

He sighs and taps Blaine's name.

"_Kurt?_" Blaine answers after one ring, breathless.

Guilt gnaws at Kurt a little. "Hi."

_"Where are you? Mercedes said you left school again?"_

He fights to keep from rolling his eyes - the concern is nice, really, even if it's misplaced. "I should have never given you her number. I'm fine, Blaine. Dad came and got me to go..."

_"Go where? Kurt...I'm trying to be patient here but..."_

"I know. I'm sorry. Just..." He can't tell Blaine everything. The last time he told one of Dave's secrets to Blaine, it didn't end well. The problem is, he can't tell him anything without telling him everything.

_"Did you get my emails? About Karof-"_

"Okay, hang on." Kurt draws in a breath. "Don't talk about Dave right now, okay? It's really not...not a good time for that talk, Blaine."

_"Fine. Then tell me what happened so I can stop speculating."_

"He was hurt." That's safe, right? Even Finn knows that much. "He's the one they had to get the ambulance for yesterday. He's hurt, and he needs help."

There's a pause, and a short, contained sigh._ "You didn't read the emails, did you?" _

"What are you talking about?" Kurt looks back towards the quiet house. There's no way to tell what's going on behind those walls. He should have been more stubborn about going inside with his dad.

_"Kurt. Look, just hear me out. Guys like Karofsky..."_

"Blaine. I said-"

_"They're manipulators, Kurt. Seriously. This guy wasn't above assaulting you, I'm sure he'd be willing to hurt himself if he thought it would get your attention." _

"I said stop that!" Kurt has no real right to get angry at Blaine, when he's the one keeping everything from Blaine. He can't get mad. If Blaine knew the truth he would shut up, and Kurt's the one keeping the truth from him. He can't get angry. He can't blame his poor, worried boyfriend.

He does anyway.

"That's _enough_, Blaine. When you're ready to have a conversation with me that doesn't involve you badmouthing Dave Karofsky, call me back. Until then you can just keep getting your news from Mercedes."

That's all he says, and he hangs up the phone, and he lets it drop onto his lap as he stares out at the house.

The phone rings, and he ignores it. It rings three more times before the front door opens again - Blaine once more, Mercedes twice. Kurt can tell because he's given them both ringtones. They're the most important people in his life outside of his dad, after all.

He ignores them, nothing getting his attention or stealing his focus until the moment that front door opens.

His dad's got a big, worn duffel bag over his shoulder, and his face is red and angry. He moves around the car and throws the bag in the backseat, climbing in and starting the engine without even looking at Kurt.

Kurt watches the house, but there's no movement from inside. No one watching at the window, no one at the door.

He waits until they're on the road. "What happened?"

His dad shakes his head, but lets out a slow breath like steam whistling from a kettle. "Some people have no right to call themselves parents."

Kurt swallows, wondering. Wanting to argue again, uselessly, that Paul Karofsky _seemed _so _nice._

He doesn't ask because when his dad is troubled by something he usually tells Kurt what it is. He usually gives a clue.

Which he does, as they pull onto their own street. He slows the car, looking ahead at Carole's car in the driveway which means they're not going to have any time to talk privately in the house. He pulls the car in front of the house, shuts the engine, and doesn't move.

Kurt turns to him, waiting.

"If I ever..." His dad rubs his face, that overwhelmed look in his eyes that Kurt has had to see far too often. "If I've ever made you think that anything in the world is more important to me than you..."

"You haven't. Not once."

"Anything, Kurt." His dad frowns at him. "Not the garage. Not the house. Not Carole, not Finn. They...they might become as important, but _nothing _is more important to me than you are. I don't care who you love or what you do. I don't care if you snap and kill a guy for wearing white shoes after Labor Day."

Kurt wants to smile at that, but he can't.

"I'm your dad, you got that? I don't have to approve of everything you do. I don't have to like all your ideas or understand everything you do. It doesn't _matter_. I'm your dad, you're my kid. That's the only thing that's important."

Kurt knows all this. He's got the kind of faith in his dad that he doesn't have in anything or anyone else in the world. They went through a few bad things to get where they are, and he doesn't need to be reminded of where they stand now.

But he knows his dad isn't saying this stuff for Kurt. This has nothing to do with Kurt. This is his dad facing down another dad who didn't make the same choices, and being utterly baffled by it.

Kurt looks back at the worn old duffel bag in the back seat. "Just because he's gay?" he asks quietly, even though he knows the answer already.

His dad follows his eyes and sighs. "Feels like the whole world should be as far along as you are, doesn't it?" He reaches out and lays a hand on Kurt's arm, then opens his door and moves to get the bag from the back seat.

Kurt climbs out of the car and grabs his backpack, stuffing his phone in his pocket.

"If he needs a place," his dad says as he moves around the car, "we've got a room here. If that's what you want, Kurt. If you feel safe with that."

Kurt nods. "He doesn't scare me anymore, dad."

It's the entire rest of the world he's suddenly unsure about, not Dave.

* * *

><p>When Dave sees the duffel bag the next morning his eyes widen, but if it's a surprise he shakes it off fast. He sits up in his bed, working the control to raise the back up higher.<p>

"You're not in school."

Kurt smiles bigger than he feels like smiling. "You're a good excuse to play hooky."

"Great, we can both flunk together."

"Solidarity, brother." Kurt holds up a fist solemnly. "Go Team Rainbow."

Dave's wan little smile-like thing fades away fast. He nods at the bag. "Was he here?"

"No." Kurt moves to the bed and sets the duffel down. He went through some of the stuff his dad grabbed from Dave's house, left the clothes and things in their guest room at home. He brought the things he thought a boy imprisoned in a hospital room might want. "We kind of...stormed your house? Yesterday? My dad did, anyway. I think he was hoping he could talk..."

Dave unzips the bag. He snorts. "How'd that go?" He doesn't bother to wait for an answer he already knows. He pulls out an iPod and headphones and this time his smile is almost real. "Oh. Thanks. Daytime TV is..."

"Soaps and Supermarket Sweep. I know, it's tragic."

Dave sets the iPod on his lap and doesn't reach for the bag again. "You didn't talk to him, did you?"

"Your dad? No. My dad wouldn't let me in."

"Probably a good thing." Dave toys with the iPod, scrolling through screens, but his eyes are barely following what he's doing.

Now's his chance to ask straight-out, but Kurt feels oddly hesitant when he speaks. "Your dad...he didn't seem all that homophobic to me. Before."

"He isn't." Dave doesn't look away from the iPod. His mouth quirks up, but it's the kind of smile a hundred-year-old man should have. It's tired and bitter.

"I don't understand," Kurt says quietly.

"You want another secret, Fancy?"

"I..." Kurt frowns. "That's not what I..."

"Sure you do," Dave goes on over Kurt's words. "Here, you'll get a fucking kick out of this one." He holds out the iPod.

Kurt studies him for a moment, but takes the device hesitantly. "What...?"

There's a list of playlists on the screen. The standard Recently Added and Most Played, and one called Gym, and right above that, one called Fancy.

Kurt blinks and looks up at Dave.

Dave isn't looking at him. He's toying with the cord to the ear buds, practically strangling them in his hands.

Kurt tries to smile. "Is that where you hide your Gaga?"

Dave's eyes shutter. He shrugs, looks towards the door. "My head's killing me. Fucking nurse should have been here by now."

"Do you need me to get someone?"

There's a pause. Dave strangles that thin white cord between bandaged fingers, and he drops back against the pillow and shuts his eyes.

Kurt feels like he's not following along fast enough. He has no idea what's going through Dave's head. That's something he couldn't have guessed at even before this thing happened.

He looks down at the iPod, and goes into the Fancy playlist.

He doesn't recognize any of the songs. They don't seem like Gaga-ish guilty pleasures, though, that's obvious.

"The doctor..."

His eyes go back to Dave instantly.

Dave stares at the ceiling. "He said they were only keeping me for 48 hours. Because of my head, in case I get brain damaged or whatever. Don't know how they could tell, though. What's the difference between a dumb jock and a guy with brain damage?"

Kurt leans against the side of the cot, sitting precariously. "That sounds like the set-up to a joke. Anyway, you're not dumb. Your dad said you used to make good grades, right? And we have a guest room."

Dave looks over.

"If that's what you're thinking about." Kurt smiles. "I mean...if you want. Coach Sylvester might have a room or something, and she's kind of weirdly worried about you right now, but..."

"Right? She was here again this morning, before school." Dave looks back at his hands, like he's trying to laugh off Sue Sylvester's presence but he can't. "Why would you even offer that?"

Kurt hesitates. There's not an answer to that question that doesn't involve flashbacks to the locker room floor.

"Where were you staying?" he asks instead. "The last few days?"

"With..."

Dave stills suddenly. His face loses color. His hands go lax, the thin cord threaded through his fingers going slack.

Kurt's gut clenches. He leans in. "Dave?"

Dave shuts his eyes again, but it's not a headache that makes his face contort. The pain etching itself into his features isn't physical.

Kurt reaches out, touching his hand instantly. "Dave, what?"

"Z," Dave says, reaching up and planting his palms against his temples like his headache just got especially bad. His voice is raw. "I was staying with Z."

Kurt grabs the duffel bag and sets it on the floor before it can fall. He sets the iPod on the cot. A horrible thought comes to him as he watches the color drain from Dave's face.

He has no idea what kind of relationships overbearing jocks have with each other, but he knows that before the revelation about Karofsky being gay he had rarely ever seen Karofsky without Azimio at his side. They're best friends. Even the people who don't know them at all, the people they hate, like Kurt, even Kurt knows that. No one messes with one of them without ending up having to take on both.

Everyone knows that.

Dave can shut his eyes from view and blame a headache, but Kurt is darkly sure of what's really wrong.

"Was he..." It hurts to push the question out. "Was he one of the ones who...?"

"No." Dave draws in a breath. "But he's the one who knew."

"Knew what?"

"About me." Dave's breathing is getting faster, tighter. He stares at his hands, the tangle of wires from the headphones. "I went to stay at his place when dad kicked me out. Finally told him _why _he kicked me out, and...the next day..." He looks up at Kurt, and there's pain in his eyes stronger than anything his dad's brought out in him so far. Maybe stronger because Dave has always expected his dad to turn his back. "Was he in school yesterday?"

Kurt hesitates. The morning classes yesterday were pretty much a blur, but he did go to French. And the seat beside his stayed empty.

He shakes his head, and regrets it when Dave instantly slumps and brings his hands up to his head. He grinds the heel of his hand into his temple like he's fighting even worse pain.

"But..." Kurt talks fast, and Gaga only knows why he's trying to play devil's advocate for a guy who's bullied him his entire high school life. "But a bunch of the team missed school. Puck said like half the team was gone."

Dave snorts wetly. "Circling the fucking wagons. Jesus."

Kurt almost thought Puck was making that stuff up. Half of his bad-ass stories are fictional, everyone knows that and Puck's cool with everyone knowing it. Apparently not this one, though.

"Standard fucking procedure, like this was some...fucking _prank_. And Z is..." He snorts again, but it's frail and cracked and he's starting to breathe a little faster.

Kurt doesn't like Azimio. A bully with a sense of humor is just as big a bastard to the kid getting bullied. He isn't playing devil's advocate because he thinks Azimio is a good guy. He just can't watch Dave fall apart again.

He talks fast - too fast. "But that's the thing, isn't it? If it's standard for you guys to skip school just because some guy on the team tells you to circle the wagons, that doesn't mean you know what it is you're helping hide. Right?"

Dave scrubs at his eyes, looking away from Kurt towards the wall.

"It doesn't mean he had anything to do with it. Does it?"

"It's a hell of a coincidence if he didn't," Dave says, his voice thick. "He said...that night, he was bugging me and bugging me, like my dad's so fucking great I must have done something seriously wrong to get kicked out, and he wanted to know what. He had my fucking back, he said. _Fuck!_" Dave digs his palms into his eyes, shuddering. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

"That's a dumb question," Kurt answers, soft and pained. He reaches for Dave's arm, but when Dave jerks at the touch his hand flies off again and he freezes.

What is he supposed to say? What does he do? He doesn't know how to deal with this, how does he help someone else deal with it?

Dave draws in a breath, a gasp of air. He swallows once, then twice, like he's fighting back the urge to vomit. "If I had _killed_ somebody," he says, his voice raw with the sobs he won't let himself give in to, "he would have helped me hide the body. But I'm fucking _gay_, so suddenly every fucking day since we were eight years old means _dick. _Like I'm a stranger. And the next day the whole fucking team knew, and they..."

His voice gives, and with a wrenching sound he covers his face with his bandaged hands.

"Dave." Kurt's voice is pathetic, barely audible. He can't watch Dave fall apart again, but it's happening, and if there's a right thing to do he doesn't know what it is. He's a seventeen year old glee kid, he doesn't know a single _thing. _

He moves up the bed, sitting awkwardly at Dave's waist. "Dave, please." He reaches out, braced for another jerk, another flinch away, but his fingertips brush the sleeve of Dave's robe and grasp there and make their way down his arm and Dave doesn't pull away.

"I can't..." Dave breathes like he's drowning; gasping, watery breaths. "Why? I don't under...understand. _Why_ did they do this?"

"Please..." Kurt says again, and he has no idea what he's asking for until the moment Dave's arms drop and Kurt's hands reach out in their place. He has no idea what he's begging for until Dave gives in and leans towards him, and Kurt gets his arms around him and pulls him close. When Dave's sobs shake Kurt instead of just the silent bed, Kurt knows it's what he needed.

He doesn't shush Dave or waste breath lying to him about how everything's okay. He shuts his eyes and tries to focus on his breathing, on staying calm and just being whatever it is that can be of any use to Dave right now.

Dave is probably four inches taller than Kurt, with a hundred pounds of muscle packed on him that Kurt doesn't have. But while Kurt sits there holding on to him, Kurt feels like the solid one of the two of them. Like without him here Dave would all but dissolve into the floor beneath them.

His dad has always called him strong, and Kurt has never felt it so keenly as he does right now. Or else no one has ever needed it so badly.

He doesn't know what he's doing. He's a kid, he's dealing with things that are way outside his experience. He knows how to sing songs about bad things, but despite Mr. Schue's claims to the contrary, there isn't a song in the world that could make a dent in fixing something as messed up as this is.

But he holds on to Dave and he feels that strength that his dad sees in him, and he knows that he can do this. He won't be perfect, he'll just...be strong, and whatever good that does will have to be enough.

* * *

><p>Dave falls asleep with wet tracks down his face and his fingers curled tight around Kurt's shirt. His grip relaxes as he sleeps.<p>

Kurt doesn't leave. He moves to the chair beside the bed, but he pulls it up closer and makes sure he can reach Dave easily if he needs to.

He sits for a while, watching him, feeling drained and wrung out and strangely enervated. He needs to do something, it's eating at his mind in the silence. But he doesn't want to leave Dave, so to kill those thoughts he takes Dave's iPod and sticks the buds in his ears, and he finds a random song on the Fancy playlist to listen to.

The voice is familiar, but the song isn't. A guitar and drums and a thin, stretched voice. Kurt expected a fabulous dance mix or something - what else would Dave put on a list named after Kurt? And he doesn't understand what this song has to do with him until he shuts his thoughts up enough to listen to some of the lyrics.

_It's just you and me against me/One, __I get the feeling that it's two against one/__I'm already fighting me, so what's another one?/__The mirror is a trigger and your mouth's a gun/__Lucky for me, I'm not the only one._

He turns it off.

His dad used to tell him not to listen in on people's conversations if he wasn't ready to hear bad things, and this is way too much like that. He doesn't want to know this - what Dave thinks about him, or how he's made Dave feel.

There was a time so damned recently when Dave was just Karofsky. Just another bully jock, and then a violent closet case, and then...just a miserable kid whose entire life was an act. All those stages Karofsky had seemed to take on in Kurt's head, but the entire time Kurt was only seeing this tiny piece of his mask, and not him. Never once him.

That idea burns in him, because there are people in the world who should know Dave for who he is. His dad, his best friend. Those people should be the ones Dave can lean on, not Kurt. Not someone who makes him feel like that song felt.

Kurt saw the hate in Karofsky's eyes during every stage of their dramatic relationship so far. He can't stand the idea that it's been directly inside this entire time. That Kurt, who is a stranger as much as Dave is a stranger to him, is the one here for him. Kurt's house is the only shelter he's been offered, and the people who should know Dave for who he is would all rather have that self-loathing Karofsky instead.

* * *

><p>When he leaves Dave's side it's only because he doesn't want to wake him up.<p>

_"Porcelain. What's wrong?"_

"I need information." He speaks softly into the phone, though the nurse has come by and slipped some kind of medication into Dave's IV that makes his sleep even deeper.

Coach Sylvester only hesitates for a moment. _"What kind of information?"_

"I need an address. Can you look up a student for me?"

_"Are you about to do something ridiculously stupid, sunshine?"_

"Probably."

_"Do I want to know what it is?" _

"Nope."

Another pause, but not long. _"Alright. Keep talking."_


	5. Chapter 5

Officially, Kurt came out of the closet when he was sixteen.

In reality, any closet that Kurt ever fancied himself being hidden in must have been built with glass walls, because according to pretty much everyone who ever knew him, he was the worst-kept secret ever.

He's only been 'gay', a proud carrier of that title, for a year and a few months. But he's been mocked, scorned, punched, pushed for _being _gay for as far back as he can remember.

The reason he's thinking about all this is because when he pulls his Escalade up where the GPS in the dashboard tells him to stop, he's finding that the street around him is messing with some deeply-held defense mechanisms that he's used to cope with that scorn since he was a kid.

Bullies are supposed to be miserable, poor, ignorant. They're supposed to hate Kurt because they simply don't know any better. Like apes. Kurt spent hours in junior high dreaming up life stories about the people who hated him. Some pathetic, some horrible, some insane, and all designed to allow him to believe that hatred happens for a reason. That people aren't truly evil, just misguided.

Dave Karofsky...well. Most any gay boy staring at a jock's fist probably secretly wonders if that jock is hiding something with his bullying. So Dave, the overcompensating closet case, existed in the realm of possibilities contained in Kurt's imagination. He was jarring, but not inconceivable.

This place, though. He thought Dave lived in a nice neighborhood? _This _is the kind of neighborhood that would gate itself away from the riffraff from Dave's neighborhood. Huge sprawling green lawns as impeccably kept as golf courses. Long white driveways leading to pillars and columns and vaulted ceilings and curved stairways.

These are the kinds of houses that have their own _houses. _A girl Kurt was friends with through the fifth grade lived on a street like this, and she laughed at him when he saw the guest house in the back and asked her who lived in her yard.

Sometimes he forgets that streets like this even exist in Lima. He sure as hell didn't expect to drive onto one of these streets today, on the mission he's on. But he knows right away that Coach Sylvester gave him the right address, because before he can turn off his engine and brave opening his door, there's a laughing, mocking voice summoning him.

"Oh, s_hit. _Somebody shoulda warned me to put my good drawers on today: the queen her_self_ is paying a visit!"

Kurt knows Azimio Adams' voice anywhere. Any kid at McKinley would. Even when he's not targeting someone, he's loud and distinct and he's got way more personality than any bully ought to have.

Kurt opens the door and steps down from the driver's seat, fisting his keys in his hands (with his house key clenched between his knuckles, poking outward, in case he has to throw a punch and wants to do any actual damage).

Azimio's not wearing his letterman jacket, which is enough to take Kurt by surprise. Even more than Dave, Azimio is always wearing red and white. Today, though, he's in jeans. A dark jersey from some sport or another hangs off his huge shoulders. In this crisp, snooty neighborhood he's an unexpected sight, but the way he saunters up like he's the king of the block automatically makes him belong right where he is.

He's grinning as he approaches, scoping out Kurt's car with a raised eyebrow. Kurt can't tell if there's malice behind the grin. There must be, there usually is. He can't tell if there are any shadows at all in Azimio's face, and that's a scary thing. Hidden hatred is even scarier than the obvious kind.

Azimio moves right in, surveying Kurt with smirking surprise. "Now I'm gonna ask you what the hell you're doing in my 'hood, princess, but don't go thinking I actually care about your answer. I don't want you swooning your pretty little head or-"

It's those slight, mocking words - princess, pretty - that bring Kurt's mind back into sharp focus before Azimio can even finish whatever punchline he's moving towards. Those words, that smirking, familiar contempt. Kurt has known it his whole life, but coming from Azimio it makes him think of Dave having to face it.

And thinking about Dave at all is more than enough to bring Kurt back to his purpose.

He slams his door shut and faces Azimio, talking over his words. "Did you know what was going to happen?"

Azimio's words trail to a lazy stop, and his smile is as cocky as ever. "Excuse me, your highness?"

"Did you know what they were going to do?" It's not like Kurt, this rush of air drowning out his thoughts like he's in a wind tunnel. This lack of fear, the sharpness in his voice and the way he steps towards Azimio like he's the bigger of the two of them.

A genuine flicker of something - curiosity, confusion - gets covered fast by Azimio's typical drawling attitude. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific, cupcake. There are a lot of 'they' in the world, and I-"

"Fine." Kurt takes another step, and another, closing the space between them. He thinks about Dave sitting alone in a hospital bed. He can still feel the damp patch on his shirt where Dave cried, though it dried a while ago. He can still feel Dave shaking. He can still see him on the locker room floor, with a bare arm and glazed eyes and broken fingernails from trying to claw his way out.

Kurt isn't scary, he isn't big and cocky and strong. But for some reason when he closes in, Azimio's grin slides and he steps back.

"Fine," he says again, his hands fisting at his sides. "Did you know what those bastards were going to do to Dave?"

"Dave?" Azimio blinks, like he either has no idea who Dave is or can't even imagine how his name came up. "Whoa...what the hell, this is about fucking _Karofsky?_" He snorts. "Boy's out of his closet for an hour and you're already getting your fag on together, is that-"

"_Shut up_!" Singing, maybe. Singing must put this control in his body, this volume in his lungs. He's certainly never used his voice this way before.

Azimio's mouth snaps closed in surprise.

"Answer me!" Kurt will think about this whole thing later and he'll probably be convinced it didn't really happen, because it doesn't even feel like it's him in his body, in his brain, speaking through his voice. "When you told your bastard friends about him, did you know what they were going to do?"

Azimio doesn't immediately answer. His forehead is starting to furrow, like he's just realizing that Kurt is talking about something important.

"Did you tell them to do it?" he asks, and where his voice can sometimes go shrill when he's excited, somehow he's growling out his words now. "Did you laugh about it later? Did you pass the word to _circle _the fucking _wagons _so no one would have to answer for it?"

Azimio's grin is gone. He stares at Kurt like he does when they're partnered in French class, when Kurt speaks so easily and only about one word in five gets through Azimio's slacker brain.

Kurt closes the space between them, jabbing a finger at Azimio's broad chest. "Why are you home today, you...you _bastard_? Do you know what you're helping to hide? Do you even know _why _he's in the fucking _hospital_?"

"What?"

Just that one utterly confused word is enough to make Kurt's righteous fury stumble.

Azimio backs up, shaking his head, snorting like he's trying to laugh but can't. "What the fuck you talking about, lady? Ain't nothing happened to Karofsky, he's probably been crashing in his truck down at..." Even as he talks his words slow, and some kind of knowledge starts creeping into his eyes.

He shakes his head harder, stumbling back like he's trying to get away, like Kurt actually managed to scare _him _for once.

Azimio didn't know. He really didn't. Somewhere in his back of his mind, Kurt wants to cheer. But he can't. Maybe Azimio didn't stab Dave in the back as hard as Dave thinks, but he still drove a knife in.

He speaks as he watches Azimio's eyes slide to the side, lost in some memory or rethinking something that's happened. "You told people about him. Didn't you. He came out to you, he trusted you, and you..."

Azimio shrugs, jerky and sharp. "Fucking Karofsky. He's fucking crazy saying that shit."

"_Crazy_?"

"Hey." Azimio's eyes focus on Kurt suddenly. "Don't fucking say it like that. I know him, man. The guy is my fucking _brother_, and he's not queer. And what the fuck difference does it make? Yeah, I told a few guys. Shit's fucked up, I couldn't just-"

"You told them to _hurt_ him? You told them to corner him in a locker room and..."

Azimio's eyes flash. He digs into his pocket suddenly, coming up with a sleek, thin cell phone. Instantly he's dialing a number.

Kurt's anger flares. "Hey! I'm talking to you here, put that..."

Azimio looks up at him.

Kurt's words trail off.

There's something dangerous on his face. Something really dark, truly scary. Something worse than anything Kurt's seen on him in the halls of McKinley.

"Yo," Azimio says into his phone suddenly, his eyes locked on Kurt. "What did...hey. Yo, shut the fuck up. I'm asking a question." There's a pause, and his eyes are grim, unwavering on Kurt as he talks. "You never told me, man. What the fuck are we circling wagons for?"

Kurt holds his breath. He stares at that phone, wondering if whoever's on the other side isn't the person, one of the people, who hurt Dave.

"Fuck the code of silence, motherfucker." Azimio's got a vocabulary like a Mamet play on the best day, but these words are steel cold and getting colder by the second. "You said you just had to teach some bitch a lesson. What the fuck does that mean?"

Whatever the person on the phone says, whatever Azimio hears, it does something to him. Something obvious, something that makes his throat work and his shoulders slump in, and his eyes widen from their cold glare into something entirely different.

He doesn't say a word. He listens to whatever the answer to his question is, then he lowers the phone and shuts it.

Kurt isn't sure what to do, if anything. He drove here furious, he planned to stay furious. Now he has no idea what he is.

"You said my boy's in the hospital?" Azimio focuses on Kurt again slowly. "How bad?"

"They're releasing him this afternoon," Kurt says. "But not because he's okay."

Azimio nods absently. He looks down at his phone, and out at the street, and it's like he's still putting a few remaining pieces together in his head.

"Because I told them he's a fag."

Kurt echoes Dave's words from earlier that day. "It would be a hell of a coincidence otherwise, wouldn't it?"

Azimio flinches back, slight but unmissable. "And I'm helping them get away with it."

"Yeah. You are." Kurt draws in a breath, taking a risk that there's something stronger than hate inside Azimio. "But don't go pretending like it bothers you or anything. He's a fag, right? Had it coming. He isn't your friend anymore, what difference does it make?"

Azimio's eyes snap up, and there's anger there that Kurt is actually glad to see. "You shut your fucking mouth, songboy. You don't know shit about us."

"I know he's coming back to my house when they let him go, because everyone else in his life has kicked him out," Kurt snaps back.

"Fuck you! He goes telling me this shit, and I'm supposed to just..."

"React like a human being? Of course not, that's way too far outside your nature, isn't it?"

"_Fuck _you," Azimio snaps again. "Dave's my brother."

"No, he used to be." Kurt speaks less harshly, because everything he hoped to see is blasting through Azimio's eyes. "Now he's gay."

"Then he's my _fag_ brother, what the hell ever. I'll deal with that shit, okay? Me and Dave will deal with that. Dude's been my bro for half my life, he's not getting out of it that fucking easy. Gonna take me some time, but that's my shit to work out." His eyes drive into Kurt. He moves in on heavy feet. "_Your _job here is to tell me exactly what I'm about to go kill some motherfuckers for."

Kurt hesitates. Azimio has definitely stalked just this way towards him in crowded hallways before, but he sees clearly enough that Azimio's fury isn't directed at him.

"What did they do to him?" Azimio asks when Kurt doesn't speak up. And after barely a pause, "What the fuck did they _do_?"

Kurt shakes his head fast, because that isn't his to tell. Azimio knows enough, and can maybe guess at more depending on how well he knows whoever it was he was just on the phone with.

His voice is oddly shaky when he does speak. "Will you help him?"

Azimio lets out some hissing vehement words under his breath. He twists away from Kurt, anger making his usual grinning, malicious charm twist into something seriously tense. "He _knows _I will," he's saying when his words become at all understandable. "Why didn't he call me?"

Kurt wonders if he should answer that.

No. Azimio shakes his head and brings his fists up, and in one of those fists he's squeezing his cell so hard Kurt expects it to shatter right in his hand. "Shit. Because of my fucking dumbass mouth," he says, quieter and harsher all at once. His feet take him a few paces away, but he turns and comes back.

Kurt studies him. He clears his throat and speaks somehow clearly. "Will you tell the police who it was?"

Azimio glances at him like he's a distant annoyance, but after a second he frowns. "Wait. Hospital? Police? They fucked him up bad."

"Yeah. They did."

Azimio looks down at his phone. He draws in a breath and faces Kurt like it's a simple decision. Maybe it is. Hopefully it is. "Hell, yes. I'll be the biggest fucking snitch the cops ever fucking heard of. But you gotta do something for me."

Kurt lets out a shaky breath, swallowing back a thickness creeping up his throat. "What?"

"You gotta tell Dave this wasn't me." Azimio holds up a hand instantly, cutting off whatever Kurt might say in response. "I'm not saying lie about what I told people. I'm a man, I own the dumb shit I do. But you gotta tell him that whatever went down...he's gotta know that wasn't me."

Kurt nods, because he's sure that Dave needs to hear that even more than Azimio needs him to know it. "I will. Or...you could?"

Azimio's throat works. "Naw, man, I still got some shit to handle. If he's as fucked up as you say he is he don't need me and my fag issues around him right now." He draws in a breath, shoots a measured look over at Kurt. "Soon, though. You tell him...tell him, soon. Okay?"

Kurt nods, and for some reason he can't decide whether he wants to smile or cry.

Azimio backs up suddenly. "I'm...I gotta go talk to my folks. They'll run me over to Lima Central. There...uh, there someone there I should talk to?"

Kurt reaches into his pocket. His hands are shaking but only a little as he opens his slim wallet and pulls out the business card he still had, from the police officer who spoke to he and Coach Sylvester that very first day, before they even let them go to the hospital. He holds it out.

Azimio grabs it from him and shoves it in his pocket.

"Thank you," Kurt says, quiet and unsteady, and now that this whole confrontation is over he's suddenly strangely nervous about it.

Azimio moves back towards the ornate house a hundred feet back across the lush green lawn, and Kurt turns to his car and stumbles over.

"Yo, Hummel."

He looks up past the hood of the Escalade.

Azimio stands there halfway down the wide yard. "You thought I had something to do with this."

Kurt nods. Dave thought it, Dave was devestated into tears from thinking it, and Kurt was in no position to know better.

But it isn't anger on Azimio's face when he nods. It's something else. "You thought I put Dave fucking Wide-Load Karofsky in the hospital for being queer, and you showed up here all by yourself to face me down?"

And when he says it that way, Kurt's nervous feeling only grows. Because...good Gaga, that really is what Kurt did. That stupid, stupid thing is exactly what he did.

Azimio grins suddenly, and though it's obviously fake there's real approval in his voice. "You got bigger balls than I woulda thought. Shit, with balls that big where do you fit your ovaries?"

Any other day righteous indignation would have clenched Kurt right up, but maybe it's relief and this twitchy nervous feeling in his gut that startles a laugh out of him.

* * *

><p>On the drive back to the hospital he calls Coach Sylvester. When he tells her that Azimio is going to go to the cops with the names of the people who did this, she makes a sound like she's choking and yells at him for most of the drive about what the hell he was thinking facing someone like that on his own, and did he want to get killed, and exactly how many gallons of hairspray must he have breathed in his life to make him so completely irresponsibly <em>stupid<em>.

Then she says he's lucky she isn't going to tell his dad what he's been up to, and before she hangs up he can almost swear he hears her call him Kurt.

He doesn't let himself think about it, the scenarios he ignored. The things that might have happened. What he did, going over there...it was the right thing to do.

Still, if his dad never finds out he did something that potentially insane, that's probably best.

He can't even figure out how to mention it to Dave, though he has to. He promised Azimio.

When he moves in Dave's room, though, he finds he doesn't want to mention it yet. There's way too much there, and Dave is sitting up in bed and listening to his iPod and he seems almost...okay. Kurt doesn't want that to go away yet, even if the end result would be positive.

Dave sees him and tugs the buds from his ears. He musters up a small smile. "What're you doing here?"

Kurt shrugs. The nervous feeling that's been eating at him is instantly, entirely gone in the face of that frail smile.

Whatever he did, whatever he risked, he'd do it again.

"You're getting out in a few hours, right? Dad's coming to sign you out and everything, I figured you might need help packing."

It's a lame excuse. Dave doesn't let that lameness slide. "Fancy. 'Packing' means I gotta stick this thing," he lofts the iPod, "into that thing." He nods at the duffel bag on the floor. "I may be damaged but I can handle that."

"So you want me to leave?"

Dave's answer is firm. "No."

Kurt meets his eyes, trying not to smile even wider.

Dave's eyes skitter away, and Kurt might just be going a little crazy because he could _swear _there's a trace of pink creeping over Dave's cheeks.

He's punchy from the day he's had, from facing down Azimio and coming out the other side knowing that he actually did well, that Azimio will help Dave, that soon the monsters who put Dave in here will get what they deserve. He's punchy and grinning and victorious, but the sight of that slight blush touches something deeper than his mood.

He likes it. The blush, the averted eyes. He likes it as much as he liked that first shy smile in the hallway at school.

He thought only days ago that he had missed out on something huge because he hadn't emailed Dave after that first exchange. Because he hadn't danced with him, because he pressured an obviously terrified guy to do the thing he feared most. He felt like he missed out, but...

But he hasn't. Dave is hurt but he's still _here_. Still alive, and Kurt can talk to him now. Can email him if he wants, can watch him blush.

He hasn't missed his chance; he just delayed it longer than he should have.

"Your dad..." Dave glances back at him, the pink already fading from his face. "I can't believe he's cool with this, after everything."

Kurt moves to the chair he now considers his and sits primly. "Hummels are a very forgiving breed," he says, tugging his cell phone out of his pocket when it digs into his hip. "And dad is..." He smiles. "After everything he's done for me I know he's the most understanding, most generous...but even knowing that he still surprises me with it all the time."

"Yeah?" Dave looks back at his iPod. "Sounds about right. I mean...anyone else in the world would've left me to rot here, but you...and after everything I did to you...shit. Must've taken a fucking amazing guy to raise someone like you."

Kurt looks up at that. His mouth drops open.

Dave busies himself with the menu of his iPod, scanning like he's suddenly fascinated by his own playlist.

"I told you," Kurt says slowly, trying to act like he's not more touched by those words than just about anything he's ever heard from anyone who isn't his dad. "We made our peace, Dave. I accepted your apology, those things don't matter anymore."

"You...you didn't. Actually."

"Didn't what?"

"Accept my apology." Dave glances over at him. "That one time, out in the hall at school..."

Kurt nods of course, because that isn't a day or a conversation he's likely to forget. He knew that Dave was miserable so the tears didn't surprise him much. But the words, the unasked-for apology freely offered...that was a surprise. That was the first time Kurt realized that Dave really was sorry.

He studies Dave. "I did accept it. Didn't I?"

"You said...you just said you knew. That I was sorry. And that meant a lot, right? I was glad you knew that I meant it. But it wasn't..."

"Well." Kurt sits up at that. "We'll fix that right now, then."

Dave frowns, but a moment later he seems to understand. He smiles, faint and sad. "I'm sorry, Kurt. About everything."

"I accept your apology," Kurt says in response, and though it's meant as a formality there's something in his chest that seems to loosen. Something he didn't notice before. Maybe something he's carried around for a long time.

He clears his throat. "I forgive you," he adds, and there's another little weight lifted off of him.

Dave blinks suddenly bright eyes and draws in a slow, deep breath. He turns back to his iPod. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>For someone who talks as rarely as Tina, the girl can fill up a cell phone.<p>

She's on a roll at the moment, going on and on about glee rehearsal. About her man doing his song, and the sheer expressive happiness he made everyone feel just with his dancing.

Blah blah blah. If Kurt gets this way about Blaine he wants to know about it. He wants someone to stop him. Honestly.

It's adorable to see her happy, of course, so he doesn't begrudge her for acting like the meaning of life can be expressed through popping and locking.

Kurt likes to hear Blaine sing. It's probably the same thing, right? Blaine is very talented. He's got charisma to spare, he's charming. He's a natural. If he's a little bit...showy, that's Kurt's taste talking. Blaine likes to play up crowds. He likes holding a mic and grinning and winking and making girls (and Kurts) in the audience swoon.

So what if Blaine's style of performing isn't Kurt's favorite? It's perfectly normal that Kurt would rather sit through those jaw-dropping moments when Rachel Berry turns herself inside out to tell stories and live lifes through her songs. It's just the difference between becoming a character and performing for an audience, and, well, he's a theatre nerd. His preference was set before he ever met Blaine.

It doesn't mean he loves Blaine less than Tina loves Mike. That's ridiculous. He's just past the giddy stage where seeing Blaine's name on a text makes him beam at everyone around him. He's at the stage where he can wonder if anyone else thinks that maybe Blaine can be a little..._smarmy_ when he sings, and there's nothing wrong with that.

It's what settling into a relationship is all about.

What he's doing at the moment, reading text after text of _'and you should have seen him SLIDE Kurt its like the laws of physics dont apply to his BODY'_ instead of actually returning Blaine's messages...that's the same thing. He_ loves_ Blaine, he doesn't have to _answer_ him.

There's a comfortable silence in the room as he sighs and rolls his eyes through her texts. Dave has been napping on and off for a while, and when he's awake he seems to be happy just laying there, no distractions to keep him occupied.

Well, maybe _happy_ is the wrong word to use there.

Kurt has a plan for the evening - he's going to help his dad get Dave to their house and get him settled in, and then he's going to barricade himself in his room and have an overdue conversation with Blaine about everything that's been going on. Then he's going to have a quiet talk with Dave about the best friend Dave thinks he's lost. He's going to get everyone together on the same page, he's going to get all the drama out of the way.

And that frees up tomorrow for more cheerful endeavors. If Azimio goes through with his promise to go to the police - and somehow Kurt is certain that he will - than he might be back at school sooner than he first thought. Maybe Dave will be, too.

Tina's endless but slowing stream of texts is interrupted by his phone actually ringing, and Kurt answers fast to keep Dave from waking up.

"Dad?"

_"Hey, Kurt. Just wanted to let you two know I'm on my way. Finished an oil change on this monster caddy later than I thought, so I'm stuck right in rush hour, but give me about an hour, okay?" _

"Okay. Thanks, dad."

_"For braving the highway at five-thirty? You owe me dinner, kid, 'thanks, dad' ain't cutting it."_

Kurt grins. "You've got it."

He shuts his phone, mentally running through the supplies in their busy kitchen at home to think up what he can make for dinner.

Dave's first dinner at home. And, wow, there are so many weird things going on in _that_ sentence, but all the same Kurt starts thinking through some of his better-received recipes, trying to think of something good.

"That your dad?" Dave rolls on his side suddenly, blinking heavy eyes open.

"He should be here in about an hour."

"Mm." Dave reaches up, rubbing at his face. "F'cking pills."

Kurt's smile slips but doesn't vanish entirely. They bring him pain medication every so often, and a doctor stood here and wrote him a prescription for more to take with him. They expect him to be in pain for a while.

He doesn't like thinking about that. For an occasional moment or two through the day he's managed to forget that they're here because Dave is hurt, because he's more hurt than anything that shows on his skin. For a moment here and there he's almost let himself think that they're hanging out together, silent but okay with each other, because they're _friends_ or something.

"Shit," Dave says suddenly, more clearly.

"What?"

"Fucking pills make me weird. I'm gonna say something dumb and your dad is gonna strangle me." It's a strangely solemn prediction.

Kurt laughs. "Stop worrying about my dad. You're not the enemy anymore, not even to him."

"Gonna straight up close his hands around my windpipe." Dave laughs, a puff of air that's the medication and the nap more than any humor.

Kurt rolls his eyes and grabs the control hanging off the side of the bed. He presses the button to raise the bed, to get Dave upright and less loopy.

"You think he'll go off if I call you Fancy? Hard habit to shake."

"I doubt it." Kurt sometimes wonders how he didn't peg Dave as gay sooner, given that 'Fancy' is the nickname Dave tagged him with. It's hardly an insulting word. "He might like it."

"Do you like it?"

Kurt looks over, eyebrows rising.

Dave groans and waves a hand between them. "Shit. Ignore me. I'm awake enough to be embarrassed by my own dumb ass."

He fights back a laugh and sets the control back on the side of the bed near Dave's hand. "Well, just in case this is an issue of _in vino veritas_, I can promise you that you will survive tonight even if you do say something stupid."

Dave makes a strange face. "_In vino veritas. _Who talks like that?"

"Apparently I do," Kurt answers primly, taking up his cell phone to get lost in text hell again if Dave decides to be snarky. "It's Latin, it just means-"

Dave shoots him a look.

Kurt sighs, but lets it go. "Plebeian." He lifts his phone.

"It means 'in wine, truth'. That's the literal; the implication being that you think my drugged-up ass is secretly terrified of your dad and only admitting it because I'm too stoned to make my eyes focus. I'm not a frigging idiot just because I don't go around throwing Latin into my conversations like some _Fancy_." Dave raises an eyebrow, looking pretty wry for a guy who claims to be under the influence of medication. "I know what 'plebeian' means too, you snob."

Kurt blinks, but when Dave gives another mostly air, drugged-up laugh he echoes it. "Well, well. Your dad was serious about you being secretly smart."

Aaaaand there goes the good mood.

Kurt watches it drain away right in front of his eyes, and he shuts his eyes for a quick second and calls himself a few choice nasty names inside his head.

Dave lets out a breath after a moment and sits up. "Does he even know where I'm going? I mean...did your dad tell him?"

"Probably." Kurt turns off his phone and slides it back into his pocket. He's not so self-absorbed that he'll text his friends while Dave sits here with these kinds of thoughts.

"I should..." Dave frowns. He digs under the sheet and tugs out his iPod, dropping it on his lap. "I oughtta tell your dad...maybe he thinks this is only temporary or whatever, but...dad isn't gonna let me go back. Should figure out how long your dad'll let me crash before I've gotta find somewhere else..."

Kurt sighs, but doesn't bother to tell Dave not to worry about it. He's pretty sure that some of the reassurances about Kurt's dad are going to have to come from the man himself before Dave will believe them.

"I don't get it," he says instead. "I don't get what his problem is."

"Who, my dad?" Dave shakes his head. "How long you got?"

It seems like a throwaway question, but Kurt regards Dave for a moment and decides to answer it seriously. "I'm not going anywhere."

Dave looks over at Kurt, his expression softening into something less guarded, more confused. But he shakes his head and the bitterness is back.

"My _dad_ is a douchebag who can't stop trying to impress his fucking politician golf-buddies. He may seem like some nice guy, but him and all his friends are just judgmental hypocrites." He glances over at Kurt and seems a little surprised that he's listening, not interrupting. Waiting for more.

"You said he wasn't homophobic," Kurt encourages.

Dave laughs sharply. "Of course not. He's a fucking self-righteous ACLU-loving _liberal_. You throw a pride parade and he'll try to get on one of the fucking floats." He hesitates, but faces Kurt with some determination seeming to drive him to say more. "Only thing he ever wanted us to be was fucking perfect. Perfect little postcard family. Wife cooking his food, daughters being sweet and adoring. And I'm the son, I gotta be big man at school, letterman jacket and straight As and the girls all hanging off me. Gotta get into Columbia Law, follow his footsteps. Make the old man proud."

He shakes his head, and the edge in his voice speaks to his feelings being old and familiar. Dave has given his dad a lot of thought, apparently.

Kurt, who would watch every shift of his dad's eyebrows in the days before he braved coming out to him, understands that train of thought. That obsessive study, and the playbacks of everything his dad might have ever said to him before about gay people, about anyone who's different.

"In his world we can't be homophobic, cause it'd piss off his hippie buddies. But that sure as shit doesn't mean we're allowed to be gay." Dave's eyes are brown and cloudy.

Kurt sits, waiting. Fascinated, really, because he just in the last minute learned more about Dave Karofsky than he ever knew before.

It's strange, but hopefully it's a good kind of strange.

"He's how I got back in, you know." Dave's voice is getting pinched.

Kurt thinks he ought to stop this, change the subject, let Dave relax a little before they go through the process of moving him into a strange new place.

But he thinks about Dave's words and he wonders. "After you were expelled?"

"Yeah. Dad acted like he was totally cool with it in front of you guys and Sylvester, but he's got half the fucking school board in his cell phone. He was talking to them before we made it to the car. And...he didn't care what happened, he was just pissed it went so far. I fucking humiliated him getting kicked out." He glares at his hands. "That's what he does. He doesn't yell or swear, he gets real fucking quiet. 'Well, David, are you happy? You have _humiliated _me and our family_.'"_

Dave rubs at his face, sniffling roughly. "Son of a bitch is real easy to humiliate, too. Took me a lot of years to realize that. Hell, I _humiliated_ him by picking hockey instead of football first year at McKinley. I can't just be a jock, it's got to be the right sport. He gave me shit until I changed over last year. He only stopped giving me shit about not getting quarterback when he realized no burly shithead like me's ever gonna get that position." He looks over at Kurt. "You thought he was a great guy? Thought he was sympathetic to you? When he got me back into school, he never even mentioned your name. He didn't ask what I did, didn't care why I did it. He just said if I didn't get my act together and get my grades up and stop bringing shame on him like I did, he was gonna start calling up some recruiter friends of his. Ship my ass to Iraq or wherever."

Kurt already knows he's got the greatest father he could have ever asked for, but sometimes he gets reminded of that when his dad isn't even around.

"What about..." He hesitates, studying Dave's cloudy face.

"What?" Dave can't meet his eyes, but he snorts a bitter laugh a moment later and seems to realize what Kurt's uncertain about asking about. "My mom took off when I was twelve. Jen, my older sister, got knocked up. Mom knew if dad found out he would have fucking killed her. Pro-choice, right, women can choose their own way. But not _his_ daughter, no way in hell."

"She just left you with your dad?"

He shrugs like it's no big deal, but there's a shiver in his voice that says otherwise. "She didn't bolt in the night, she just divorced him. She got Jen and Lori, my other sister, and the judge said he should get to keep his son. Whatever. Bitch doesn't even call. She moved them out to Cleveland and sent me a Sweet Sixteen birthday card on my seventeeth birthday, and fuck her. She figured I'd be a mini version of him, and she couldn't get away fast enough."

He stops then, laughing hoarsely. "Jesus, she was right, too. That's exactly what I was."

Kurt moves over to the bed and perches on the edge, reaching for Dave. He's done this before, not enough for it to become natural but enough that Dave doesn't flinch away.

Dave does tense up for a moment, but he drops his forehead against Kurt's shoulder and lets out a breath. "You want another of my secrets?"

"Sure," Kurt answers softly. "I'm starting a collection."

Dave laughs, edged. "He told me the night I was expelled that I was gonna be back at school by Monday. Good news, right? But I went upstairs to my room and dug out a bottle of these ancient pain meds from when I broke my arm when I was twelve, and..."

Kurt draws in a breath, and then can't seem to breathe again. He draws back very slowly to look down at Dave.

Dave flashes the absolute saddest version of a smile that Kurt has ever seen. "I didn't even open the bottle, okay? I was too big a pussy to really try it. But I sat there staring at it for...for a long time, and it made me feel better. That it was there, you know? That I've got a way out whenever I want to take it. How fucked up is that? He fixes the expulsion, I'm back on track like nothing ever happened, and all I can think about is that I have a Plan B the next time I feel that fucking...that _bad._"

"Dave. If you _ever_..." Kurt can't even finish. He reaches out and his fingers lay on Dave's shoulder, and he looks right into his eyes and there's just no words for what he wants to say.

Dave shrugs. "I hated myself for turning into my dad," he admits. "I hated that he swooped in and played the understanding, sympathetic father to his mean, troubled teenager, and fixed my problems without caring whose problems he was making worse. I was full of shit in that office, I know that. But even so...I fucking hated that he came in and listened to you and your dad and Sylvester and didn't even ask me what was going on. He was so pissed at me for getting Bs in class and actually speaking my mind now and then that he didn't take a fucking second to even pretend like he was on my side. And if your fucking _dad_ isn't gonna have your back..."

He stops suddenly, casting a sideways look at Kurt. "Whatever. The really sick thing is that right now, with my head killing me and my ribs cracked, and my shoulders fucked up, and even...even considering...everything _else,_ all this shit I'm not even close to dealing with yet. Still, I'm so fucking far away from where he wanted me to be. I was in a worse place _then_ than I am _now_, and that's more than a little bit completely fucked, Fancy."

Kurt nods, because it is, but it's fucked in a good way. At least as far as the here and now is concerned.

He has no idea how a father could choose to send his own child from him, but he's suddenly, fiercely glad that Paul Karofsky is just that kind of bastard.


	6. Chapter 6

"Mr. Karofsky."

Surprised, Dave looks up. His eyes pass over the doctor in the doorway and keep moving, like he's expecting someone else to be there. When Kurt realizes he's looking for his dad, the twist of malevolence he's nursing for that man grows in his chest. Like the Grinch's heart at the end of the only decent Christmas movie ever.

Dave realizes fast that he's the Mr. Karofsky in question, and his expression blanks out as his gaze returns to the doctor.

The doctor is older, greying hair and olive skin, some variety of Mediterranean that's aged really well. He smiles at Dave, barely glancing at Kurt. "We should go over a few things before I let you go. Just because you aren't stuck here doesn't mean you'll be back up to full strength." He moves in and his eyes go to Kurt. "Would you give us a few minutes?" he asks, flashing a smile that makes the lines around his eyes deepen.

Kurt hesitates, dragging his eyes from the surprisingly hot doctor and looking over at Dave. "I could stay? I mean, he's saying with us. I could help with...medication, or whatever?"

Dave's eyes go everywhere but Kurt. "S'okay, Kurt. Just gimme a few."

He feels oddly hurt as he stands up. He moves past the doctor and goes to the door, hesitating just for a moment in the doorway in case Dave changes his mind.

There's silence until the door shuts behind him.

Out in the hallway he's left on his own, wondering if he ought to just listen at the door. But no, he isn't a nosy ten year old, and what a strange thing for him to be offended by, being asked to leave while Dave talks to his doctor. Then again, Kurt never has been fond of being told that he isn't the exact center of the universe, so maybe it's natural for him to be offended.

Maybe it's just a reminder that the last couple of days have been a strange bubble away from reality, and that sitting in a hospital room texting Tina while Dave sleeps doesn't make he and Dave friends. Not really.

He paces for a minute, back and forth in longer lines until his pace takes him towards the end of the hall and he hears a familiar voice out by the nurse's station.

His dad nods at him as he approaches, busy with some kind of paperwork. "You guys ready?"

"Not yet, his doctor wanted to talk to him. Dave threw me out." And okay, now he's _pouting_, and that's just ridiculous.

His dad shoots him a look. "Yeah, well. You're a worrier, kid. If Karofsky knows you at all he knows better than to let you see how bad off he really is."

Kurt blinks.

His dad raises an eyebrow. "Come on, Kurt. Nobody cares more about seeming strong than a teenaged boy. I've got two of you hanging around all the time, I know."

That's a more mollifying reason than the ones that popped into Kurt's head in that hallway. If privacy is something Dave wants in order to make himself seem strong...it's unnecessary, but allowable.

Kurt smiles, instantly shaking off his sense of mild outrage at being excluded. "How was work?" he asks, moving up to his dad and smiling at the nurse behind the counter, who ignores him entirely.

"How was _work?" _his dad repeats.

Kurt shrugs. "I feel like talking about something normal and boring for a minute."

"Uh huh." But he pushes the finished papers, whatever they are, across to the nurse and throws his arm around Kurt's shoulder, leading him back towards the chairs lining the wall. "Work was fine, Kurt. Quiet. I took off a few hours, got some errands done. Ate a salad for lunch and hated every bite."

"Good for you!" Kurt smiles at his dad, but his eyes start creeping back to that hallway. "Did you talk to Carole about...?"

"Yeah. I told her a kid from your school needs a place to go. Said he was hurt, and he couldn't go home. That's all she needed to know to agree to it, but." He shrugs. "Only fair that I told her just what she was agreeing to."

Kurt can hear the smile in his dad's voice, and it makes him happy all over again that he got the two of them together in the first place. Even if his motivations were less than pure.

But thinking of Carole makes him think of Finn, and his smile fades.

Finn knows a lot already. He knows more than most of the kids at McKinley, if he's kept his mouth shut about it and not told them all. But he doesn't know everything. He doesn't know the things that make Kurt so determined to help Dave recover. The things that swayed his dad to let Dave come home with them, and the things that his dad apparently felt he had to warn Carole about.

Finn knows Dave is gay at least, he heard that at the hospital the first afternoon. Finn...he's not a complicated soul, amazing as he is, so maybe for him that will be enough. Maybe he won't question Dave coming home.

Kurt debates calling him, but dismisses the idea. With Finn sometimes it's best to just present a situation as it happens, not give him a lot of time to think about it first.

He sighs and leans to the side, just enough that his shoulder brushes against his dad's arm. It's a small sort of self-indulgence, a comfort. A way to keep himself from thinking about the fragile hope in Dave's eyes for the moment that he thought his dad had changed his mind and come to see him.

It's also, in some small way, a reminder that Kurt has never had to deal with that kind of momentary hope and immediate disappointment.

Kurt has wondered sometimes, even before this happened and he got to see it for himself, what he would have done if his dad had responded to his own confession in any way similar. Blaine would tell him that wondering about that is useless. It didn't happen, Kurt should be glad and move on. But it's hard not to put himself in Dave's shoes, because he's been where Dave was days ago. Nervous and edgy and excited, finally speaking words out loud that he thought he'd never say. Telling his secrets to the people he wanted most to be proud of him.

He's been there, and the fact that he made it through with everything in his life the same as it was before, with his dad still rolling his eyes and laughing at him and occasionally staring at him like he's an alien species...

He takes that for granted sometimes. He took it for granted with Dave. 'Come out,' he harped over and over again, any time they had a chance to talk. 'Come out! Be free! It's _easy_!'

He wonders now if he really believed that. Did he really think that just because his dad hugged him and Mercedes moved him from potential-boyfriend to gay-bestie without missing more than a beat, that everyone who ever came out would have things just that easy?

His dad said it best, maybe, in the car after the tense drive home from the Karofsky house. _'You expect the whole world to be as far along as you are_,' he said, or something like that. And maybe that's the case. It's so easy to think that his dad's acceptance represented a turning point in the world, and that all dads will now follow his footsteps. It's easy to trick himself into thinking that when Finn came around and stopped being so awkward with Kurt that it symbolized an advancement in the minds of all straight teenage boys. It's so easy to think of glee club as life. All these different people coming together, everyone yelling and scratching at each other but in the end one big dysfunctional family all the same, where Kurt's being gay was just as unimportant as Rachel having a big nose.

When he realizes that a boy can still be thrown out of his home just for being gay, it feels like he just stepped back in time ten years. He wants to grab Paul Karofsky and shake him, and tell him that they _dealt _with this issue already, it's _fine _now, and how did he miss that memo?

Maybe, he thinks to himself, staring down the quiet hallway leading back to Dave's room, maybe Kurt is just too naive for his own good.

Probably.

* * *

><p>Dave's putting on his shoes to walk out of here, and his duffel bag is over Kurt's shoulder, when the doorway into the room is filled with a <em>presence.<em>

Kurt is rambling, trying to make Dave smile, something about how he's entirely disillusioned by the tv shows that made him think everyone who stays in a hospital has to get taken out in a wheelchair by a friendly nurse, when he suddenly feels it. Eyes digging in to the back of his neck.

He turns around, edging towards his dad, but he's - relieved? Maybe? - when he sees it's Coach Sylvester.

She stands there filling the door with her six feet of track suit, folding her arms across her chest as Kurt looks at her. "Hey. Knuckles."

Dave looks up from his shoelaces - Kurt's dad had to bring them, the clothes and shoes, and Kurt can't think about that because then he has to think about the fact that when Dave was brought here he didn't have any clothes or shoes - and he straightens when he sees who's standing there.

"Hey, Coach Sylvester," he says, and the smile that twitches at his mouth is a shadow of the old bashful smile Kurt remembers so fondly.

She strides into the room, casting her gaze over Kurt and Kurt's dad and finding them too uninteresting to acknowledge. She goes right to the chair where Dave's hunched over his shoes, surveying Dave as if hoping to catch him trying to get away with something.

Kurt has seen sides to Sue Sylvester in the last few months that he never suspected were there his first two years at McKinley, but he is about to be stunned all over again.

"Let me explain something to you, Knuckles," she says, as imperious as ever. "I've got a system, okay? A system that's worked out pretty damned well for me for the last few decades. You know what the foundation of that system is? That Sue Sylvester is the only person in the world that rates. People call me cruel? I'm not cruel. I'm utterly _indifferent_, because there's no one in the universe, living or dead, who is remotely interesting enough for me to care about."

Kurt glances at his dad, sees the same uncertain tension in him that Kurt himself is starting to feel.

Coach Sylvester holds out a hand, and without a pause Dave accepts it and lets her pull him to his feet. She reaches into the pocket of her track suit jacket and stretches something out, something that he takes without even looking.

"Now," she says smoothly. "There is no way that some overgrown jock itch is going to throw a kink into my system. So you take that number and put it into whatever over-accessorized electric shaver you're using as a cell phone, and you damn well use it if you need to. You promise me that, Lurch, and I won't take no for an answer. I need to be able to go through my day without giving a single solitary crap about another living soul, and that means I can't be wasting my energy wondering if you need anything you're not asking for. Got it?"

Kurt's tension is gone, but he's pretty sure his mouth is open so wide that his tonsils are feeling a breeze.

Dave doesn't seem surprised, and Kurt remembers him mentioning that she came by at least one morning to check on him. He suddenly fiercely wishes he had been around for that. Fly on the wall, anything.

Dave's hand closes around what Kurt can see now is just a piece of paper. A piece of paper with Sue Sylvester's phone number on it. He blinks strangely bright eyes and clears his throat. "Got it, Coach."

She glares at him. "Knuckles."

Dave smiles, small and crooked and how can Kurt never have noticed how _sweet _he can look sometimes? "Sorry, I mean...I promise, I'll use it if I need anything."

She narrows her eyes at him, but turns on her heel without another word and starts moving to the door. She pauses when she notices Kurt's dad standing there with his car keys in his hand.

"You."

He's still a little tense, like most people who aren't used to Sylvester would be.

She regards him and then passes her judgment. "You're a good father. You keep an eye on your kids. All of them." She looks at him hard, making it clear that if she's going to walk out of there and leave Dave in his hands, then he damn well better start counting Dave as one of his.

Kurt's dad opens his mouth to answer, but she doesn't bother waiting for it. She sweeps out of the room; Hurricane Sylvester off to storm her next beach. Leaving a lot less wreckage this time around than she usually does.

It's not like Kurt doesn't already know that she's capable of basic human emotion. When he really thinks about it, the times when she's been surprising and sincere and almost nice have numbered about even with the times that she's been, as Puck put it once, a whole fucking _pile_ of bitch.

It's funny to think about, since she's the cruel dictator at the head of the golden-child Cheerios, and she has always acted like the losers in glee have personally wronged her by being their imperfect selves. Considering that, it's funny to realize that she has been her most generous with the people who have been completely powerless. Her sister, and Becky Jackson, and as much as she mocks Kurt it was when Kurt was desperate and scared and truly helpless that she became his champion.

She plays with the idiotic social caste of a high school and she's malicious about it and enjoys every moment. But when something happens outside the boundaries of Breakfast Club high school drama, she's the first one to step up. He's just never consciously realized that before. He's seen her in her warmer moments again and again, but he still somehow thinks of each one as a solitary aberration.

Kurt looks back at Dave.

Dave's looking at that piece of paper in his hand. As Kurt watches he clenches his fist around it and pushes it deep into the pocket of his jeans, and his little crooked smile only fades after that, when he pulls his hand from his pocket and looks around.

Kurt catches his eye, and he thinks about giving him one of those wide-eyed 'what the hell was _that_' looks and playing it off as a joke. Instead he hikes the duffel bag higher on his shoulder and lets her visit go without comment. Because, really, if she can put a smile on Dave's face right now with everything weighing on him, that makes her one of the greatest people in the world.

"You ready to go home?" he asks quietly.

Dave's eyes go to Kurt's dad, uncertain, but he nods and stays steady on his feet as he leaves the wall and the chair and the hospital bed behind.

* * *

><p>Kurt's dad talks about a cracked engine block on this '94 Comanche in the shop like it's the most fascinating thing he's been given to work on in years. He goes into the kind of detail about this crappy old Jeep that makes a tedious, routine job come out sounding like the challenge of a lifetime, like the cancer cure that's going to nab him that Nobel.<p>

Kurt lets him talk on and on, watching him with amusement that becomes boredom and then confusion as this story stretches into minute ten, then fifteen.

He only realizes what his dad is doing when they pull into the driveway at the house and the story comes to an abrupt conclusion. He sees his dad's eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, and Kurt glances back to see Dave sitting frozen, tense and pale and worried, staring at the house like he's been brought here for punishment.

Kurt doesn't know how much of the story Dave listened to, if any, but he knows exactly why his dad never let it fall silent in that car on the way home.

There are only so many times a day that a kid can thank his dad for being absolutely fantastic, so Kurt doesn't say anything. He climbs out of the car with his dad and they open both backseat doors, and Kurt's dad grabs the duffel bag from the floorboard and heads into the house without a pause.

Dave sits still, but he speaks a few moments after the front door opens and shuts behind Kurt's dad. "You realize how screwed up this is, Fancy?"

Kurt stands there in the open door and thinks about it. After just a moment he laughs softly. "As strange as it seems that I've just brought David Karofsky home to stay with me," he says, "it's really not even the weirdest thing that's happened today. So come on, stop thinking about it and just come inside."

Dave obeys after a minute, shuffling awkwardly to the edge of the seat and pushing himself to his feet.

Kurt leads him from the car towards the house. He wants to follow his dad's lead and fill the silence with any kind of distracting blather he can think of, but...he can't actually think of anything. He's blank, and it's a startling thing for a boy who can wax philosophic for hours about the shades of sage featured in the latest Marc Jacobs collection.

When they get to the door he pauses, turning to Dave. "We'll go right in and I'll take you to the guest room. Your room, I mean, I guess it's your room now. And if you're tired or you don't want to deal with anything else, that can be the end of the tour, okay?"

Dave looks from the door to Kurt, and whatever he sees in Kurt's face makes his shoulders relax. He nods, and before Kurt can turn to the door he reaches out, touching Kurt's arm for a brief moment.

"Thanks. For all this. Really, Kurt."

His eyes are bright, brown and green in equal measure, and his voice is rough and low, and when Kurt hears his own name rumbling across the space between them it feels like the first time anyone's ever called him that. Which is silly, because even Dave has called him Kurt before. But...

But it _feels _like something.

Kurt has this sudden, absurd but almost irresistible urge to reach out, to banish any space between them. To just...just touch him back in some small way, to make Dave understand that Kurt isn't going anywhere. That even if Dave thinks he doesn't deserve forgiveness or generosity, Kurt is offering it all the same.

In the end, though, he just speaks. Simple, but sincere. "I can't make any of this go away," he says softly. "If I could, I would, in a second. But all I can do is try to help, so...just let me keep doing that."

"Yeah," Dave answers, his gaze dropping. Probably to hide the inevitable I-don't-deserve-this look that Kurt is going to banish from him someday if it's the last thing he does.

He _doesn't _deserve what's happening, but not in the way he's stuck thinking about. Hopefully someday he'll realize that.

"You want to stay out here for a few minutes?"

Dave draws in a breath and meets Kurt's eyes for an intent second. He straightens like he's pulled strength from some hidden reserve. "Nah, I'm okay. It's frigging cold, anyway."

Kurt smiles and leans out to twist the knob and open the door. He gestures, gallant as Cary Grant if only in his own mind. "After you."

Dave's eyes smile a little and he moves through the door.

* * *

><p>It happens between one breath and the next, so fast and so jarring that Kurt almost laughs in surprise.<p>

But there's nothing funny about it.

One moment Dave is walking through the door, nervous but braced to find out what his new home is going to be like. The very next instant he is plastered back against the wall beside the door, and there's panic in his eyes and absolutely no color in his face.

He's breathing fast, sharp and audible, and Kurt knows somehow that his mind is far away from there.

It only takes Kurt an instant to see what's happened.

The living room is crowded. Finn is home, and Puck is with him. Sam is there, sitting in Finn's favorite armchair. Mike is standing back behind behind the couch, near the door, with Finn and Puck. Even Artie is there, his wheelchair squeezed between the chair and the couch.

The whole group of them stands there, milling, waiting. All facing the door like they've been expecting it to open. A wall of guys. And they must have had practice after classes that day, because every one of them is wearing their letterman jackets.

Nobody says anything. The few awkward smiles are vanishing fast, and all eyes are on Dave.

Kurt feels like his mind is working faster than his body. There's a beat where he takes in the unexpected group, and a beat where he notes the panic driving Dave back into the wall.

And his mind is already ten steps ahead.

He moves fast, stepping in front of Dave, standing way too close in order to block out all the red and white behind him. He doesn't reach out - something tells him not to - but he speaks, low and fast.

"Dave. Dave, it's just me. It's Kurt. Open your eyes, Dave," because they are shut, tight. "Hey. Come on, listen to me. It's just me, it's okay. It's just me."

He keeps going, on and on, and behind him there's silence loud enough to register as its own presence and he wants to turn and scream at them to get out, to stop gaping, to take off those _fucking jackets._

Instead he focuses on Dave, speaking the same useless words. It's me, it's okay, open your eyes, Dave, breathe. Like a chant, a song, over and over, because he just wants Dave to hear his voice, not the words.

"Please, Dave, it's okay, listen to me." He wants to reach out so badly it makes his hands shake.

Dave's eyes open suddenly, wide and glazed, and Kurt is close but Dave is taller and he can't help but see what's right over his shoulder.

"Dave!" Kurt barks out now, loud, to startle Dave's focus back to him. "I said look at me, okay?"

Dave does, his gaze jerking down and at Kurt before starting to go back up.

"Dave. Come on, it's me. It's Kurt."

Dave's eyes shut, but just for a moment. He draws in a ragged breath and at least his gaze is focused when he opens his eyes again. "Yeah. I heard you." His voice is rasping like it had to cut its way out of his throat. "Shit," he whispers, low and hissing and shaking. "_Shit_, what..."

He looks up past Kurt, and maybe it's the jackets, maybe it's the unwelcome audience, but suddenly his already grey face blanches white.

Kurt grabs Dave's arm without thinking and drags him from the wall, moving fast around Finn and past Artie and practically jogging across the room and to the stunted hallway beyond. He throws open the first door, pounds the switch to turn on the bathroom's light, and all but pushes Dave in before shutting the door behind him.

Only then, only in the next few moments when he's left staring at a shut door and he can hear the loud, painful sounds of Dave vomiting on the other side...only then does his mind and body seem to catch up to each other and his heart starts thudding in his chest.

Before he knows what he's doing he's back in the living room, coming at Finn like he's ready to give the tackling side of football a try. "What the hell are you _doing_? What is _wrong _with you idiots?"

"We didn't..." Finn is pale, shaken. He holds up his hands, palms out, as Kurt closes in. "Jesus, Kurt, we didn't mean to...what the hell was..."

Kurt doesn't ram into him the way he almost wants to. He forces his feet to slow, closing the remaining space with a furious jabbing finger into Finn's chest. "What are you doing here? What are _they _doing here?"

"Easy, Kurt." When a hand closes around Kurt's arm he jerks, spinning to direct his glare at Noah Puckerman. Puck holds up his hands in an echo of Finn's gesture. "Hey, dude. Unarmed here."

Kurt glares daggers at him.

Puck faces that look down, though his normal badass act is dimmed by his own pale surprise. "Kurt. Chill. You think we knew it was gonna go down that way?"

"Why are you here?" Kurt snaps in answer.

"Because there's a really fucking nasty rumor going around school right now," Puck answers back steadily. "And a few of us," he gestures at the silent group behind him, "are wondering why we were all left out of this shit the team's doing. Everyone knows I'm the first guy to call when you're trying to hide some trouble, and nobody called me on this one." He stares at Kurt before looking up over his shoulder at Finn. "So then your mom texted Finn that Karofsky was gonna crash here, and that makes that rumor look pretty fucking true."

"So?" Kurt tries to stay firm and furious, but he can still hear Dave throwing up, muffled through the walls, and he can't believe they already know at school. He can't believe they're passing this around like any piece of gossip.

"So..." Finn takes over, moving around his furious stepbrother and joining Puck. "So none of us would ever call Karofsky a friend, but if...if things happened like people are saying..." And Finn knows, Finn has known more about what actually happened than any student besides Kurt and the bastards who attacked Dave, so he says 'if' but his eyes don't have any ifs in them.

Kurt understands what they're saying, or what they're talking around, anyway. They're here to help. To show support or whatever. They're on Dave's side, at least in regards to those rumors.

It's a good thing. It's a stupid, absolutely _idiotic _good thing that they're here.

Kurt draws in a few deep breaths to get himself under control. "Are those rumors saying that it was guys on the team who did it?"

Finn and Puck exchange dark looks. Puck nods.

Kurt draws in another breath, but his voice won't stay calm. "Then why the hell would you show up here in a pack wearing those _fucking _jackets?" It feels good, a there-and-gone snap of satisfaction, because he doesn't swear that often, and never in front of people who aren't his closest friends.

This situation deserves a few fierce words, though.

Finn looks down at himself, at the red and white jacket. He glances at Puck, and then behind them at the other guys, and seems to register for the first time that they're all wearing the things.

He pales, looking back at Kurt with round eyes. "Oh, man, we didn't even think. We had drills, and..."

Kurt glares at him.

"...and we're always wearing...them..." Finn finishes lamely.

Kurt blows out a breath and pushes out between the two idiots in front of him so he can address the whole cluster of idiots. "Just get out of here, okay? He's already exhausted, and that was before you terrorized him."

"Jesus, Hummel." Puck mutters under his breath, but waves his hand at the crowd. "Try to do a good fuckin' deed. Come on, guys."

As they move to the door, a line of hangdog faces, Kurt has a momentary flash of guilt. He sighs and rubs at his face. There's silence from the direction of the downstairs bathroom, and he wants to go over there.

"Hey," he says as Puck brings up the end of the line. Finn is still loitering by the couch, of course, but he's already stripped his jacket off and he's holding it out in front of him like it's about to burst into flames.

Kurt looks from Finn to Puck. "I'll tell him why you were here, okay? And...and I'm..._glad_ you guys are on his side here."

"Don't give yourself an aneurism trying to pretend you're not pissed, Kurt." Puck smirks at him. "We're dumbasses, we get it. Just pass the word through Finn when he's ready for us to try this again."

Kurt nods tersely.

The door shuts behind Puck.

Finn looks from the jacket to Kurt and back again. "Uh. Guess I'll go...upstairs?"

"Fine."

Finn drifts towards the staircase, and before he starts up he gives Kurt one of those rare, solemn looks he is sometimes capable of. "I'm sorry, we really didn't mean to scare him or anything."

Kurt just nods again, tired.

As Finn plods up the stairs, Kurt looks around the suddenly silent living room. Muffled voices come from upstairs, his dad or Carole running into Finn maybe. Everything's going to be tense and horrible now, and Dave only made it half a second in the Hummel house before things went to hell.

Kurt doesn't believe in omens, but this has been one seriously inauspicious homecoming.


	7. Chapter 7

Kurt lets ten minutes go by, because he's pretty sure that Dave needs some recovery time from his panic attack. The sounds from the bathroom have all fallen silent, and there's no noise from upstairs, and eventually he gets tired of stacking and re-stacking a pile of dvds on the coffee table.

Finally he crosses the living room and goes back to the bathroom door and knocks quietly. "Are you coming out?"

There's a pause. Dave's voice is low, rough, when he answers. "If I ask you for a blanket and pillow could I just stay in here?"

Kurt smiles faintly at the door. "No."

He hears movement on the other side of the door, slow and stumbling, so he doesn't speak again. He leans back against the wall and waits.

The sink turns on and shuts off, and when the door finally opens Dave stands there with a damp, red face and eyes that instantly go past Kurt trying to see around the corner.

"They're gone," Kurt says softly. "And everyone's upstairs."

Dave doesn't answer, but his shoulders relax a little. He reaches up to swipe at a bead of water on his chin, and Kurt can't help but see how badly his hands are shaking.

"Sorry," he says. "That was..."

Kurt clears his throat. "Puck already admitted that they're all dumbasses, and Finn's apologized on behalf of the group. I think that's enough 'sorry' for one evening, so keep yours." He reaches out, only a little hesitant, and lets his hand rest on Dave's arm. "Come on, we'll go upstairs, you can get some rest."

"Your family think I'm psycho yet?" Dave asks, tensing a little under Kurt's hand but relaxing again when they start moving back to the living room.

"To be fair," Kurt says, injecting way more humor into his voice than he's feeling, "my family has mostly thought you were psycho for months now." And then he holds his breath, not looking at Dave, because that's the kind of joke that could backfire.

Dave snorts quietly after a moment. "And Finn and his pals already hated me. No harm done, then, I guess."

No harm to anyone but Dave. Kurt doesn't bother saying that, though, or arguing with it.

"You should know something about Finn and his pals," he says, feeling Dave relax under his arm when they make it to the living room and every trace of the crowd and their letterman jackets is gone. "Even decent people trying to do good things can be complete idiots. No one personifies that quite as perfectly as Finn."

They get to the foot of the stairs and Kurt glances over at Dave.

Dave eyes the stairway, and the arm not under Kurt's grip comes up, hand sliding to his side. He makes a face but draws in a deep breath and steels himself.

Kurt squeezes his arm. "Your ribs?" he asks quietly, remembering those things he doesn't want to think about, like cracked ribs and dislocated shoulders.

"I guess puking up everything I ate this week doesn't count as taking it easy," Dave confirms. "Doc's gonna be pissed." But he reaches out and grips the railing hard. "If you laugh at me when this takes an hour, I'm leaving."

"I'm offended at the implication, but luckily for you I'm too classy to show it. Let's go."

Dave flashes him a small, shaky smile, and Kurt returns it, and they start up.

Dave isn't a small guy. Kurt isn't a weakling, but he's weighed down not only by half of Dave's weight, but by this gnawing sense of guilt and responsibility and cold knowledge that if anything else happens to Dave in Kurt's house it is absolutely no one but Kurt's fault.

It ends up taking something closer to five minutes than an hour, and Kurt knows from Dave's set jaw and pale face that he's moving faster and taking on more of his own weight than he should. Kurt doesn't say anything, remembering what his dad said earlier about no one wanting to seem strong more than a teenage boy.

When they reach the top of the stairs, Dave keeps moving, step by step, not even pausing to celebrate the minor victory. His eyes are narrow with determination, and his hand clutches at his side in a way that almost makes Kurt want to go get his dad, but they reach the door to the plain little guest room and Kurt reaches out and pushes it open fast so Dave can keep up his momentum.

There's a bright red poster on the wall.

It catches Kurt's eye instantly, and it's unexpected (and _red, _which he's back to associating with _bad) _so he stops and turns to Dave like he can protect him from it somehow.

Dave's eyes go right to it, of course, but his reaction isn't anything like downstairs. His eyes get wide and surprised, and his trudging feet stop in the doorway.

He looks around, past Kurt without seeming to see him there, and a strange expression forms that Kurt doesn't understand. Strange, but he doesn't get tense. Some of the color comes back to his face, and he trudges past Kurt and looks around.

Kurt turns to watch him but his eyes catch on that red again, and this time he takes a moment and actually looks at it. It's red and white, bright, but it's a logo that looks familiar somehow, and at the bottom are the words _Detroit Red Wings._

Hockey, he remembers from somewhere. And then he looks around the rest of the small room.

There are books on the little dresser, a stack of magazines. The closet is open, full of strange clothes. There's a computer, a plain laptop, sitting on the bedside table. Another poster on the opposite wall, some football player Kurt doesn't recognize. The comforter on the bed is unfamiliar, dark maroon and worn-looking.

On the shelf high in the closet is a familiar duffel bag, deflated and empty, and beside it another worn suitcase.

Dave moves to the bed and sits heavily. The hand he doesn't have clamped around his ribs reaches out, his fingers brushing over the shut lid of the laptop, over a faded and half-removed sticker of the McKinley High School's team logo.

Kurt remembers something his dad said earlier, at the hospital. Words he didn't pay attention to at the time, about how he took off from work for a few hours that day and ran some errands. He doesn't know if he should be furious at Paul Karofsky all over again for letting his son be removed from his house this way by a near-stranger, or if he should just focus on how incredibly lucky he is to have the dad he's got.

Kurt sees the brightness in Dave's eyes as he looks around at his things all moved into this new room.

"You can talk to him about it if you want," Kurt says. He clears his throat when his voice crackles a little. "But I suddenly get the feeling dad's already planning for you to be here for a while."

"Yeah. I..." Dave looks up at him. "I...I think I just need...some sleep. Or..." His throat works, and his lips press tight together.

Kurt understands instantly. He is strangely reluctant to nod, though, to slip backwards to the door. "Get some rest," he says quickly, seeing that Dave's reaching his breaking point fast. "I'll see you in the morning."

Dave nods fast. His face bows, hiding his expression.

Kurt wants to say more, to go over there and sit beside him and let his shirt get soaked again. But no one wants to seem strong more than a teenage boy, and Dave's let Kurt see way more than he probably would have chosen to any other time. So Kurt slips through the door and shuts it behind him, and he stands there long enough to hear the first muffled sounds of Dave giving in to his roller-coaster of a day.

He stops at his dad and Carole's bedroom door, and knocks quietly. "Dad?"

"He's asleep, Kurt," Carole answers through the door, obviously used to how his dad can sleep through screams and explosions once he's out for the night. "Hug him in the morning."

Kurt laughs at that wetly. "Night, Carole." He moves to his own door, and with only one last look back at the door to the guest room, Dave's room, he moves in and drags himself to his own bed.

He has plans for tonight. Had plans, anyway. A stern talking-to with Blaine to make him stop his passive-aggressive anti-Karofsky campaign, and then a long talk with Dave about Azimio. The second one is obviously not in the cards, but he digs his phone from his pocket and drops onto his back on his bed.

It rings once, then twice, and when Blaine answers there's a moment of fumbling. "_Kurt_?" He's all but slurring, and Kurt winces when he realizes it's probably later than he thinks.

"_Kurt? Are you okay? It's late, what's..." _

Kurt wants to go through his mental list of lecture topics. He wants to start by telling Blaine that he's wrong about Dave, that he can't tell him details but he _can _tell him that Dave didn't do anything to himself just to get Kurt's attention. He wants to tell Blaine that Dave is now staying at his house, and that if he wants to get angry about that he can just come down here and see Dave for himself, how bad he is and how badly he needs to be here.

He wants to tell Blaine, tell _some_one, about facing down Azimio, and talking him into going to the police. About Sue Sylvester and how she gave Dave her phone number and she has a nickname for him now, and she hates people but she made Dave smile.

He wants to talk about his dad, about Dave's dad, and how it's so entirely unfair that from one family to another there can be such a huge, gaping difference in priorities. He wants to tell Blaine about Finn and Puck and the guys, and how they meant well but drove Dave into blind panic and made him puke so hard he might have hurt himself.

God, he wants to tell Blaine how that's suddenly Kurt's biggest fear in the world, that he'll do something like that. That he'll be well-intentioned and trying to help but he'll get things so wrong that he ends up doing some real damage.

He doesn't know what he's doing. He doesn't have any idea how to help with something like this, how to deal with his own weird, scattered feelings about it all. He didn't ask Azimio, and he isn't sure he wants to know, exactly who it was who did this to Dave. Because that means putting a face to it. A young face in a letterman jacket, a face he knows from school. More than one face.

He doesn't understand people. The kids from school, Paul Karofsky. He doesn't understand that sort of hate, and how it can make people attack this way.

He doesn't know how to help Dave, and he's petrified of doing it wrong, but if someone was there who did know what to do and volunteered to take Dave away and help him...Kurt would fight it. Because the only thing scarier than having to be the one who helps Dave through this is the thought of _not _being here.

There's too much to say and there are no words for any of it, and it all clogs up in his brain. So many things want to push their way out that they all jam together and nothing can fit through, like his brain is a clogged drain.

"_Kurt? You're scaring me."_

"Sorry." Kurt swallows and he barely recognizes his own voice.

He doesn't have to be strong anymore, not for tonight. But the instant he lets go of any of that control, it's like the first drops of water slipping through that clog in his mind, and once the clog is breached everything breaks loose at once.

"I..." He can't even get a second word out.

Blaine stays on the phone with him, making soft sounds occasionally, murmuring Kurt's name among soothing words. It'll be okay, I'm here, you're safe, you're perfect, I love you.

He doesn't ask questions for once, he doesn't seem to need to know why Kurt is sobbing into his ear. For once he's just _there. _And that's enough.

* * *

><p>His phone is under his ear when a knock wakes him up in the morning.<p>

Kurt gropes for the phone and shoves it on the table beside his bed. He looks around, confused, feeling drained and actually kind of okay.

"Kurt?" The door cracks open.

Kurt pushes up on his elbows. "Dad?"

"Hey, kid. I'm taking off, okay? Carole and Finn are already gone. You need anything you call the garage."

Right. No school, not yet. Kurt struggles to sit up. "Dad? Hang on."

The door opens more and his dad moves in. "If this is gonna be a lecture about you needing beauty sleep or something, skip it. I just thought you'd want to be up before your friend, in case he-"

Kurt manages to climb off the bed and shove himself at his dad with sleep still fogging his vision. He grabs on tight, breathing in Old Spice and motor oil.

His dad hugs him back instantly. "Hey. I'm serious, okay – if you need anything, call. I can bring you guys some lunch on my break?"

"No, I can make something." Kurt pulls back and smiles up at his dad. "Thank you. And not for offering to bring us lunch."

His dad pats his back, but doesn't smile. "Kurt..." He hesitates, glancing back through the open doorway as if Dave might be standing there listening in. "It means a lot to you, that's why the kid's here. But I don't want you taking on more than you can handle, okay? And be careful."

"Careful?"

His dad regards him seriously. "People can react in a lot of different ways to getting hurt like this kid was hurt. And he wasn't exactly the most stable guy before this." He holds up a hand instantly, no doubt seeing the clouds forming behind Kurt's eyes. "You get mad at me if you want, kid, but I'm serious. If I was really sure he was dangerous, he wouldn't be here. But if you're right about him threatening your life and smacking you around because he couldn't deal with being gay, I've gotta be a little bit worried about what's gonna happen if he can't deal with this."

Kurt wants to be mad, but somehow he lets it go from one breath to the next. His dad is worried, because that's what dads do. But his dad went to the Karofsky house and cleared out Dave's room and rebuilt it here as much as he could just so that Dave would be more comfortable in this strange new place.

There's no real getting mad at him in the face of that. His dad has earned immunity from Kurt's temper.

So he sighs and nods, pulling back so his dad can get to work. "I'll call if we need anything," he agrees, a concession.

His dad flashes a faint smile and reaches out, mussing his hair and ignoring his instant squawk of protest.

* * *

><p><em>Okay, Hummel, if you don't tell me what's going on and why you're not in school AGAIN I'm gonna come to your house and go all KINDS of ghetto on you.<em>

Kurt rolls his eyes, but smiles a little as he thinks of how to respond to that text. He adores Mercedes, she's his absolute best friend and he doesn't see that changing anytime soon. But still, this isn't his answer, it's Dave's. And he's pretty sure Dave wouldn't welcome filling her in on the facts.

He wants to talk to her, to find out what she knows, what the rumor mills are saying about all this. It must be a lot, and it must be bad if it brought Puck and and the other glocks here yesterday.

_I'm okay, _he texts back finally. _And we need to talk after school. Call me._

_You get on my damn nerves. You better be okay._

He doesn't answer that, just leaves his phone upstairs so that he can go make some kind of breakfast.

When he emerges from the kitchen with a platter of pancakes and eggs steaming on the counter, he smiles to see Dave awake and dressed, standing at the top of the staircase, eying the stairs like they've personally wronged him.

Kurt comes over and jogs up the stairs. "Need some help?"

Dave scowls but doesn't protest as Kurt comes up and slides himself up to Dave's side. Dave hefts an arm around his narrow shoulder and sucks in a breath as they start down.

Big guy. Kurt knows this, he's been body-checked by Dave before and you can't get much more aware of someone's size than that. But leading him down the stairs is like a whole new kind of awareness of the fact of him.

Maybe he was distracted by everything that was happening the day before, so when he helped Dave up the same stairs he didn't even notice. But he notices now. Maybe it's Dave's heavy arm over his shoulder, or the fact that he holds on to Dave a little tighter going down than going up. Dave is heavy and broad, and with Kurt's arm tight around his waist as they go he can tell how firm and solid he is under his shapeless clothes.

It's...strange. It kind of makes Kurt's face heat up, but only because he's so strangely _aware _of him. He can feel the muscles in Dave's arm bunching on every step down as he tries to stay balanced and not drag both of them tumbling down the stairs. He can feel the clench in Dave's side, the rise and fall of his sharp breaths.

Kurt has been this close to one other guy before (not counting his dad, because no), and Blaine isn't quite as slender as Kurt but it's a close battle. This is a whole different thing, and for some reason all Kurt can think about as they near the bottom of the stairs are his own angry words in a locker room ages ago. Chubby, sweaty, hamhock.

It's a weird thing to think about, but once he starts he can't let it go. He stays quiet as they go down the stairs, but once they're down and his arm is sliding free of Dave's waist, he can't stop himself.

"Um. So...I'm sorry for calling you names, that one time."

Dave is pale a little, but he stretches his ribs out and holds on to the railing at the bottom of the stairs. He blinks over at Kurt, brow furrowed. "What?"

"You know. That one time. In the locker room."

Dave stares at him like he's speaking French.

Kurt doesn't want to say it, but he sighs. "When I called you...you know. Chubby and sweaty and said you'd be...bald...or whatever."

Dave blinks, and understanding flickers into his eyes just an instant before he laughs. "Are you serious?"

"Yes? Maybe?" Kurt frowns, and it deepens to a glare as Dave keeps laughing. "What? Come on, there's food getting cold."

Dave stumbles a little but moves slowly and steadily after Kurt. "Nothing, just. I forgot about that."

"You forgot?" Kurt pushes through the kitchen door and holds it open. "Really?"

"Well." Dave's laughter fades. "You know, what happened next kind of..." He shrugs, awkward.

Right. What happened next. This was probably not a great time to start opening those particular doors.

Dave clears his throat. "Anyway, come on, Fancy. Guys give each other shit like that all the time. Didn't break my heart or anything."

"No?"

Dave chuckles again, settling himself down at the kitchen table with a hiss of air. "You hang out with chicks way too much. Or is that a queer thing, getting all bent out of shape when someone gives you shit?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Obviously it's not a queer thing," he says with a look at Dave.

Dave flushes pink. "I'm just saying. Z's fat ass calls me Wide Load like he's got any room to talk. We're guys, that's the kind of shit we talk. What the hell would you apologize about it for? Especially when..."

Kurt plates up some eggs and pancakes, glancing back when Dave falls silent.

Dave's smile is gone without a trace. He stares at the table, looking like he's aged ten years instantly. For a moment Kurt thinks he's thinking about the kiss, the things that happened after it.

But something tells him that's not it, and when he thinks for a moment he realizes what it really is, and remembers that they're overdue for a particular talk.

He sets a plate in front of Dave. "We've got milk or OJ. Or coffee, I guess, if you want me to make some."

Dave shrugs. He looks at the plate like it's going to eat _him. _"Milk's fine. Thanks."

Kurt pours a glass of milk, makes himself a glass of OJ and plates himself some pancakes. He sits down across from Dave and reaches for the syrup.

When it becomes apparent that Dave isn't going to dive in while Kurt stalls this conversation, he clears his throat and goes ahead with it.

He tells Dave about talking to Azimio – minimizing the part where Kurt went alone to face him down in his own neighborhood – and Azimio's confessing to telling his friends on the team about Dave.

It's not a surprise to Dave, but his pale unhappiness just becomes more and more apparent. At least until Kurt keeps going with his story.

"So he's going to the police. Or went to the police, I think he was going to go yesterday. But...he's really, like, _scary _pissed off about this, and he asked me to tell you...you know. That he didn't ask for that, or plan it. He didn't know what he was covering up with the rest of the team. And as soon as I told him that you were involved..."

Dave's given up looking like he's got any interest in breakfast. He's sitting back in his chair, listening to Kurt, staring at him as he talks like he either doesn't understand the words or he just can't let a single one go unheard.

Kurt smiles weakly, because this is good news, right? But it's turning Dave an unflattering shade of gray. "And...yeah. That's it. He said to tell you he'd talk to you soon. Not yet, I guess, but...soon. Though he said that with a more copious use of the word 'shit' than I'm giving him credit for here."

Dave smiles at that, faint.

Then he pushes his chair back and mutters something about the bathroom.

His plate sits there untouched, and Kurt ends up throwing away food, which he hates to do. But even though it was quiet and strange in there as he talked, and Dave is gone for a long time afterwards, he finds himself smiling as he finishes the dishes.

* * *

><p>They arrest five people, according to the detective who shows up that night and sits down with Dave and Kurt and Kurt's dad to go over the details.<p>

Kurt instantly plunges into a horrified kind of shock at that. Five. _Five _of them.

But Dave is surprised, and the detective clarifies that two of them knew, watched the doors, but they're just as arrested as the three who actually took part in the attack.

Three. Better than five, but. God.

The cop doesn't name any names. Dave declines when he offers to tell him who, and Kurt doesn't have any interest in finding out himself. He knows that when he goes back to school he'll be searching the halls for familiar faces that are suddenly missing. The gossip mills will tell him whether he wants them to or not. He won't be able to avoid it, so he's going to at least stall it.

He doesn't want this attack to have a human face.

The detective talks to Kurt's dad seriously about the arrangements they're making with Figgins to keep the school safe for Dave's return. They're going to station an officer there for a while, to make sure that there's no retaliation for the arrests, but he's pretty convinced after interviewing their suspects that this isn't a widespread thing. That there's one in the group who seems to have been ringleader, and with that one gone the danger is probably gone.

Kurt's dad isn't convinced, but when the cop leaves he tells Kurt and Dave that he'll let them make their own choice. But it's Thursday, so he says they'll stay home tomorrow and let the immediate reactions die out.

Kurt helps Dave up the stairs, and he vanishes into his room and doesn't come out for the rest of the night.

* * *

><p>He's out of sight most of the weekend. Kurt only sees him on his way to the bathroom, and when he says hello Dave doesn't seem to hear him.<p>

Maybe that's normal. Maybe his coming down for breakfast that first morning, laughing at Kurt for his feeble apologies, maybe that was an aberration. This is...it's more what he would have predicted if he had to guess what someone's reaction would be after being attacked like Dave was.

But it bothers Kurt. He knocks on the door more than a few times, at meals, in the morning, before bed. He gets short answers, and he doesn't push, but every time he walks away from that door he feels worse and worse.

He isn't naïve enough to ask Dave if he wants to go with him to the mall to meet Mercedes and Tina on Saturday, but when he leaves he still feels like he's deserting Dave.

"People can't decide if Karofksy's dead or not," Mercedes reports at the counter of Jamba Juice. "Especially not after Thursday. It was about fifty-fifty, but I think more people are voting 'dead' after the cops showed up."

They dragged their suspects out of school in handcuffs, and Kurt is fiercely glad to hear it. Those bastards stopped circling their damned wagons a day too soon, it seems.

"Are you coming to school Monday?"

Kurt nods when Mercedes asks – he hadn't quite made up his mind, but when she asks he answers. Dave won't, he doesn't think, but Kurt has to go back. He learned a lesson at prom about facing down the things he dreads. He learned it thanks to Blaine, and thanks to Dave, though both in different ways.

Kurt dreads walking the halls of McKinley, looking for who's missing. He dreads the gym, the locker room. So he has to walk the halls and go to the gym and learn the names of the ones who got arrested. It's the only way to handle dread.

If Dave doesn't choose the same way, Kurt can hardly blame him. Kurt's nameless dread is an entirely different thing than Dave's. There was nothing nameless about his attack, and 'dread' is probably an understatement.

It's strange hanging out with his girls at the mall, walking past Macy's and avoiding the Cinnabon and listening to them chat about school, about glee and assignments and homework.

When he says he'll come back Monday, Mercedes grins at him and pulls out her phone, immediately calling a number. "Kurt's in," she says into the phone, and a moment later she lowers it. "What size jacket do you wear?"

"What?"

Mercedes rolls her eyes and lifts the phone. "Don't worry about it, he'll just get it tailored anyway."

"What?" Kurt frowns from her to Tina.

Tina smiles back innocently. "You'll see on Monday. And you're not going to believe it."


	8. Chapter 8

Tina's right. He doesn't believe it.

When he gets to the school the halls are black. Not everywhere, but there are enough kids wearing solid black jackets that it stands out.

Santana finds him while he's still near the door trying to figure out what's going on. She pushes a black polyester nightmare at him. "Here. Wear it."

"What?" He unfolds the jacket and can tell it matches what half the kids in sight are wearing. Santana is wearing one too, and he blinks when he sees the logo on the chest. It's the old Bully Whips jacket. Black, but the logo is the same as those bright red things she and Dave used to march around the halls in.

"We're bringing it back," Santana informs him. "And you're either part of it or not."

"But...I thought the entire point of it was to..."

"Get over yourself," she snaps at him. "It's not about you anymore. You want to be one of the protected your whole life, ladyboy? Or you want to be one of the protectors?"

Kurt studies her – Santana is tense and abrasive on her best days, but this darkness in her eyes is new.

She tugs on her own jacket, glaring at him when he doesn't put his on. "Come on, Kurt. You of all people know how it feels not to be safe here. This is bigger than you now, because it's sure as hell bigger than slushies and throwing elbows."

Kurt sucks in a sharp breath when he realizes where that darkness comes from. "You _know_."

"I know enough. I know the way rumors work at this school. Hell, I either started or starred in most of them. I know how to find the truth in it." Santana nods at the jacket. "This is a protest. Things went too far a long time ago, and somehow the adults here never notice or care. But what happened last week? That's fucking insane, and we're not gonna stand for it. So put it on, because if you're not part of the solution then I'll kick your ass myself."

He unfolds the jacket, looking around the sea of black jackets in new wonder. "How did you get so many people involved? It was pretty much just you and Dave last time."

"Bribery. Blackmail. Threats. Had to make the jackets black because red isn't badass enough for these trifling idiots." She shrugs, relaxing a little as he slides the jacket over his shoulders. "Of course it helps that I'm a scary bitch, but I've gotta give credit to my newest partner."

"Who..."

In a demonstration of the surreal timing that seems to take place in the halls of McKinley, a pack of black jackets moves by suddenly, and the biggest jacket in the group belongs to Azimio Adams.

Santana nods at him as he passes, and he nods back. His eyes slide past Kurt like he doesn't even see him, and keeps moving grimly down the halls.

Kurt gapes. "You and Azimio?"

"He volunteered." Santana turns back to him. "Want me to be straight up with you, Kurt? I really couldn't give a crap that you were getting picked on before. Boo hoo, homophobia in high school, big shocker. But now? Those fuckers messed with the _wrong _bitch's fake boyfriend. And what they _did_...that isn't..."

He straightens the too-big jacket around his shoulders, and when he looks back up at her there's a look in her eyes, a hard anger, that hits him right in the gut.

"Wait," he says, weak. "You..."

Her eyes slide over to him. "Don't psychoanalyze me, Hummel. We've all got our problems, okay? Yeah, if they put Jason fucking Campbell in handcuffs I know exactly what he did. I know what he does when he hurts people. But it was a long time ago, and this isn't about me."

Jason Campbell. He barely knows the name, he pictures a tall, thin, mean-eyed senior in a letterman jacket. Not a star on the team, not anybody who sticks out in any real way.

One name known, four more to go.

He shakes his head, horrified, unable to look away from that hard anger in her eyes. "When...what...?"

"I said don't fucking analyze it, Kurt. A while ago, and nothing as bad as what people are saying happened to Dave. I was too drunk to fight and not drunk enough to forget, and it's not _about _me."

Kurt can't understand it. This happened to Dave and he can't wrap his head around it, so he can't begin to swallow the idea that something like it has happened to someone else he knows.

She looks away from him, chin in the air, eyes proud. "Just wear the damned jacket."

"It's like a funeral in here," a vague voice says behind Kurt, and he jumps and twists around.

Brittany is watching Santana, her face blank but her eyes sad. "I don't like funerals."

She's wearing the jacket, though.

Kurt lets her drift past him and go to Santana's side, linking her arm around Santana's silently.

Santana looks back at Kurt. "Is Dave really staying at your place? Puck said something..."

Kurt nods.

"Good. You tell him that we're ready for him when he wants to come back. Nobody's gonna say a thing to him, and if they do there's a hundred kids in black jackets prepared to kick their asses all over the halls."

She marches off before he can answer. Brittany goes with her, clinging to her arm.

Kurt looks down at the jacket he's wearing. Lightweight, black, cheap fake fabric, shiny and badly sewn, obviously mass-produced for some cheap sporting goods shop, imprinted with a logo that's already threading around one end. This is the kind of thing he wouldn't even want touching his other clothes at most any other time.

But he turns and heads for his first class of the morning, and he sees black ahead of him, and black passing him and black darting into open classroom doors, and despite the fact that he owns an authentic Swarovski-studded Stefano Ricci necktie, he's never been more proud to wear an article of clothing as he is right now.

* * *

><p>The day passes with disconcerting ordinariness. No one singles him out about anything, no one asks him questions after Santana ambushed him that morning. He sees one of Jacob Ben Israel's polling sheets on a bulletin board - <em>Karofsky - Murderer or Murdered? - <em>and he almost goes over and rips it down but it would be useless.

He isn't surprised, though, to see Jacob in the halls after lunch obviously not wearing one of the black jackets that are everywhere.

He doesn't understand a lot about people, he's coming to find. Jacob Ben Israel and his self-defeating personality is just one more mystery he doesn't feel like trying to sort out.

Still, the day goes normally, for the most part. Every time he sees the face of a football player he mentally checks them off his list: that oversized blond with the curly hair, check. The redhead in JV who Kurt sat behind in English Lit, check.

He tries not to keep tabs on who he _doesn't _see, but he's got a subconscious tally of those as well. The senior who's impossible to miss at games because of his long black hair? Unseen. Kowalski, the taller floppy-haired sophomore? Nowhere.

Maybe he's being stupid not just asking who it was, but hearing names listed would make it too real.

None of the football players he does see are wearing their letterman jackets, he notices. They're all wearing black, and he wonders how violent Azimio had to get to make that happen.

Coach Sylvester, when he passes her office on his way to glee rehearsal. She's wearing one of the jackets. Of course, she's standing there haranguing a Cheerio who looks to be near tears, but she's doing it in a black jacket.

Mr. Schue walks into the choir room wearing one, but he takes it off when he comes in and hangs it over his chair. When he sees Kurt sitting there he smiles.

"I heard you were here today," he says quietly as everyone else comes in and settles down for practice. "How're you doing, Kurt?"

He hesitates, because people have been surprisingly good about not asking him that today, and he doesn't have a prepared answer.

"I've had better months," he says finally, flashing a wan smile.

Mr. Schue at least understands. He doesn't need to ask questions, he won't go off and speculate wild stories. He was there, he knows.

He claps Kurt on the shoulder, but moves back to the front of the room. He goes right up to the board and grabs a marker, and writes a word in big letters.

Unity.

He turns to them as the various conversations taper off and they turn their focus to him.

"Can anyone tell me why this is the theme this week?" he asks, pointing at the board.

Santana answers instantly. "Because there's strength in numbers. If you want to get anything done in the world you've got to get people on your side."

He mulls that over and nods. "That's a big part of it. What else?"

Kurt knows from the gossip mills, from the endless chatter that comes even when everyone in the halls is wearing the same coat, that people know a hell of a lot about what happened to Dave. He knows that it's common knowledge that Dave was kicked out of his house, and it seems to be common knowledge why that happened.

No one speaks about it loudly. No one laughs or calls names - Santana was obviously not kidding when she said they scared people into their jackets - but everyone is talking about it. They'll save their jokes for outside of school, but it's talked about so often that Kurt knows it matters to them.

Ignoring Rachel's raised hand, he speaks a little dully. "People are so obsessed with the things that make them different from each other, they ignore how many more things make them alike."

"Good." Mr. Schue moves back to the board and underlines Unity with a heavy stroke. "It probably took each of you about five minutes your first day of freshman year to realize that the only thing that seems to matter in these halls is anything about you that makes you different."

"Preach," Mercedes mutters beside Kurt.

"One thing that makes me so proud of this club, of all of you, is that you come from so many different backgrounds. You live such different lives, but what you focus on in here is the thing you have in common: the music. I wish the lesson would survive outside of this room." Mr. Schue sets down his marker with a sigh. "So, group numbers this week. Two groups, and we'll-"

"Mr. Schue." Rachel pops out of her seat, moving right up to the front and facing the group. "Given the theme of the assignment this week as well as the turmoil that's taking place in the halls of this school, I propose that we don't divide at all. I think we ought to do a single song, the entire club. Maybe even something that we could do at the assembly Friday."

Kurt glances back at Mercedes, eyebrows raised.

She leans in. "Some kind of anti-violence presentation from some motivational speaker. Figgins' idea."

He nods, unsurprised, and turns back to the front. There's no issue so serious that Figgins can't make an insipid mess of it.

Mr. Schue looks over the room. "I can talk to Figgins, if everyone else likes the idea?"

"What song are all of us going to be able to do?" Quinn asks.

"You mean what song are two of us going to do while the rest ooh in harmony behind them," Mercedes mumbles.

"Actually," Rachel doesn't miss a beat. "I've thought about that. I think most of us in this room are familiar with the classic Marvin Gaye protest anthem, What's Going on? As well as the recent cover version done by a variety of musical artists. It is a very thoughtful song, with opportunities for all voices to be heard. And in the spirit of the occasion..." She draws in a breath as if steeling herself for something. "In the spirit of the occasion, I think we should do the modern arrangement. Because there are no standout solos - every singer gets equal share."

"Holy..." Santana leans over to Britt behind Kurt's head. "Are your feet cold? Because hell has just officially frozen over."

Brittany looks down at her feet instantly. Behind here there are murmurs of surprise, but more murmurs of agreement.

"I second that motion," Mercedes calls out, and no one sounds more surprised about that than she does.

Rachel beams, as satisfied as she usually is when people agree with her.

"Okay, moved and seconded," Mr. Schue says with a smile. "If there are no objections...?"

Kurt sits back in his chair, and practice dissolves into excited voices and people planning, the same as any assignment day. There's a laptop open on Finn's desk, already pulling up the song on YouTube, and the moment the music starts playing through the speaker Brittany and Mike are on the floor, taking a few steps here and there and trying to think up choreography.

Something about it...something makes Kurt tense. Something makes his frown grow deeper as he looks around at the little groups gathering, listening to Bono and Christina Aguilera wail about injustice, and picking out parts for each other.

Mercedes starts singing along to the video quietly.

Kurt makes it about a minute into the song. He stands up, a sudden push to his feet, and twists to grab his books and his own shiny black jacket.

"Kurt? Come on, you've got to tell me if I'm more Christina or Alicia." Mercedes turns back to him with a grin that fades fast. "Where are you going?"

He shakes his head, jerky and uneven as he grabs his things. "I can't..."

"Kurt?" Mr. Schue calls out from the piano. "Everything okay?"

Kurt shakes his head, and it's strange but he feels as tense and uncertain as he did when he walked through the doors that morning unsure of what to expect. "No. I can't do this."

"Do what?"

He ignores Mr. Schue, and ignores Mercedes' furrowed look. He pushes his chair back and moves fast to the door. Pushing outside of the choir room into the hallway, it's like the air gets less thin and he can breathe more normally.

He's not surprised when the door opens after a few seconds, and a heavy pair of footsteps jogs up behind him. "Hey, Kurt!"

He glances back at Finn, but keeps moving on quick feet away from that choir room. "I'm okay. Just go back and rehearse."

Finn catches up to him, his longer legs matching Kurt's pace easily. "I may not be the smartest guy at school but I'm not that dumb. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I don't..." But Kurt stops. He looks back towards the choir room. "I can't _do _that. That's all. It's not a big deal, just go-"

"Can't do what?"

Kurt blows out a breath, but when he turns a glare on Finn his stepbrother just blinks back at him, innocent.

"I can't sing about this," Kurt says after just a moment of trying to resist that expression. "I can't learn harmonies and block out parts for everyone. I can't, Finn. It's too close. I still can't shut my eyes without seeing...what I saw that day. Dave is at home dealing with this on his own, and...I can't face him knowing that I spent an hour choreographing dance moves to show my support."

The confusion on Finn's face clears. He glances back, uncertain. "I think it's more about everyone here than Karofsky, you know? Like Schue said, it's about bringing people together instead of-"

"Yeah. I know." Kurt shakes his head. "I just can't do it, okay? Believe me, I'm a huge supporter of singing as a form of expression and a coping mechanism, but...there isn't a song for this. This...what happened to Dave, it's not a theme for an assignment. It's crass to think that..."

What was is Dave said at the hospital? That singing was Schuester's solution to everyone's problems? Something like that, and usually it's something Kurt agrees with Schuester about. Singing a well-timed song isn't an answer, really, but it's an aide. It's helpful sometimes, it puts words to things that most people aren't profound enough to be able to express on their own. Sometimes it can make problems seem clearer, or can put things into perspective.

But not this time. This isn't the kind of thing that can be put into perspective. It's not something that would be helped by profundity.

He can sing about a broken heart all day long, but he can't sing about a dented, bloody hole in the wall, or a towel-covered body on a locker room floor. Even if the song they're planning is just a statement about a theme, it still starts with what happened to Dave.

And if there's any song in the world that could begin to address what happened to Dave in a genuine way, Kurt doesn't know it. He doesn't want to know it.

He looks up at Finn and smiles wanly. "Look, it's a good idea, I know. If Figgins lets you do it at an assembly it will be good for the students to see it. But...I can't do it. Okay?"

Finn sighs, but smiles and claps Kurt on the arm. "I'll just tell Schue you had to go home."

"Thank you." Kurt hugs his books to his chest and moves fast away from Finn and the music room and a bunch of people who don't actually understand anything about what's happened.


	9. Chapter 9

His dad is sitting in the living room when Kurt gets home, watching one of those reality shows about ice truckers or crab fishermen or whatever. But the moment Kurt comes in and shuts the door behind him, his dad reaches for the remote and mutes the sound.

Which is less than subtle, so Kurt slides his bookbag from his shoulder and moves to the couch. "Hey, dad."

"How was school?" It's a more serious question than usual.

Kurt shrugs. He peels off his jacket, and holds it out. "Better than I was expecting, in a lot of ways."

His dad takes the jacket, eyebrows arching. "What's this? I buy you this?"

Kurt laughs. "Surely you would have remembered if I asked for a monstrosity like this."

He sits down on the couch, a knee hiked up to face his dad, and he tells him about the Bully Whips. His dad knows about Santana and Dave and their short-lived club, of course: it was what Figgins used to convince him to let Kurt come back to McKinley after his stint at Dalton, and he asked Kurt every single day for weeks for details about how it was going in the halls of McKinley.

He tells his dad now about what he saw this morning, what Santana told him, what she's done for Dave with the help of more students (and Sue Sylvester) than Kurt would have thought possible. By the end of his recount of the morning, he's got the 'monstrosity' back in his lap, and he's fingering the Bully Whips logo with a proud, uncontrollable smile on his face.

His dad watches him as he talks, as carefully as he listened to Kurt in the post-Dalton days, and in the end he sits back and nods to himself.

"Gotta tell you, I was starting to think that school was beyond hope. I've let a lot of things slide that I shouldn't have, but putting a kid in the hospital..." He shakes his head. "I was pretty close to saying we should just homeschool you boys."

Kurt makes a face at the idea – both of his father stumbling through his French lessons _and _at the idea of giving up and cloistering himself at home because the world isn't ready to embrace his fabulousness.

"Yeah, well." His dad chuckles at Kurt's expression. "This is their last shot, so I'm glad it's going okay so far."

"So far," Kurt concedes. "Figgins is having some assembly on Friday about violence in school or something, and Mr. Schue wants to do a song."

His dad waits, his smile fading. "Not into the idea? You don't usually miss chances to be in the spotlight."

Kurt shrugs, since no doubt his dad and Carole will hear about his storm-off today from Finn. "As soon as I find a song that suitably expresses the idea that gosh, we really ought to stop beating and..._molesting _each other, because that's just so uncool..." He picks at the loose threading around the logo. "I'll be right back in the spotlight."

"Yeah." His dad grimaces, seeming to understand. He glances towards the staircase, and frowns. "So. Your friend's in pretty bad shape."

"Dave." Kurt looks up at the stairs. "I know he's not your favorite person, dad, but it'll help if you don't keep calling him 'your friend' or 'that kid'."

His dad turns back to him looking almost surprised, like he didn't realize he wasn't using Dave's name. "Huh. Yeah, I guess so. Well, look, Dave's in pretty bad shape and I don't know how much we're helping, letting him shut himself away like this. I want him to come down for dinner with the rest of us."

Kurt nods at that, maybe too eagerly. "Yeah, after this weekend I think so too. I'll go talk to him about it. I want to tell him about the Bully Whips and everything."

His dad looks just a little relieved. "Good, you do that."

Kurt stands up, folding his jacket over his arm carefully and reaching for his backpack.

"Hey."

He hesitates, looking back at his dad.

If there's one thing he can give his dad credit for...well, that's an absurd thought, because there are a thousand things his dad deserves credit for. But one thing Kurt has always noticed, and always been surprised about given what he knows of most men and their issues with expressing their emotions, is that his dad has never shied away from telling Kurt exactly how he feels.

He was open about his feelings when Kurt came out to him. He's been open about them ever since then, the good and the bad alike. He's as quick to tell Kurt the good things as he is to tell him that he is completely out of his depth.

He isn't perfect, even if he's as close as any dad Kurt has ever heard of. He's awkward about a lot of things. He still gets jumpy whenever he thinks Kurt wants to have a talk about Blaine, or dating, or anything to do with other boys. But he still sits there and listens.

Right now he looks up at Kurt from under his worn baseball cap, remote in hand so he can get back to watching guys in flannel fishing for crab or cutting down trees or something equally crammed with testosterone. He smiles, and he meets Kurt's eyes, and he speaks openly.

"I'm real proud of you, kid. I mean, hell, I usually am. But this whole thing, how you're handling this and how you're being there for this...for Dave. Gotta admit, sometimes I wish you didn't invite so much insanity into your life this way. But you're not scared of it like I sometimes am, and...if I'm doing the right thing by this kid, it's because I've gotta live up to your expectations."

Kurt draws in a breath, his chest warming and his tension from glee rehearsal sliding off of him like it was never there.

His dad shrugs, looking almost sheepish. "Just...you know, sometimes you hear a lot of garbage about how a guy being gay makes him less of a man, and if I ever believed that was true you've taught me better. You're already a bigger man than most grown men I know, and I've gotta keep becoming a better man just to keep up with you."

"If you keep talking," Kurt says suddenly, blinking hot-feeling eyes, "I'm going to start sobbing all over the place, and that won't do much to prove your point about my manliness."

His dad chuckles, turning back to the TV. "Get upstairs, then, go talk to your...Dave. Let me know if you need any help convincing him to come down."

It's a minor war between going upstairs like his dad said or dropping all his stuff to hug his dad so tight he can't breathe. In the end he hikes his bag on his shoulder and goes up, knowing his dad doesn't need the hug to know how much those words mean to Kurt.

He sets his bookbag on the desk in his bedroom and checks his reflection. He wipes away a few stray damp trails under his eyes, grinning to himself in the mirror.

Then he picks up the jacket and crosses the hall to the guest room door.

* * *

><p>There's no answer when he knocks, but he's patient. He knocks again, listening to the sounds from downstairs of grown adult men bellowing to each other about cages or ropes or whatever. He can tell how butch these guys are because every other word is being bleeped out by censors.<p>

"Dave?" he calls after a minute, when there's still no answer and no sounds of movement from behind the door.

Silence, and a sudden niggle of nervousness grips him in the stomach. Kurt knocks, but doesn't wait for an answer this time. "Hey, Dave? I'm coming in, okay?"

No refusal – no sound at all – so Kurt twists the knob and cracks the door open.

It's dark in the room, the lights aren't on and the blinds on the small window are drawn. The sun still edges through the slats of the blinds, it's not pitch black or anything, but it takes his eyes a second to adjust.

He looks to the bed first, assuming Dave must be sleeping, but it's empty.

The nervous twist in his gut flares outwards, and Kurt tries to think of the last time he spoke to Dave. That morning? The night before? Dave hasn't done more than give one word answers through the door, but when is the last time he did that much?

His eyes dart around the room, and even as he's ready to go flying downstairs to get his dad he sees Dave.

He's sitting on the floor, all but wedged between the foot of the bed and the wall. His legs are drawn up, his arms curled around his bowed head. In one hand he's holding his cell phone, clenching it tightly. He doesn't seem to be aware of Kurt, he just sits there clenched up around himself, shuddering.

Kurt is there in a flash, the jacket forgotten on the ground somewhere behind him. He's on his knees before he realizes he's even moving.

"Dave?" He reaches out, but his fingers only ghost near Dave's arm. He doesn't know if he can touch. "Dave, what is it? What's wrong?"

No response, no nothing. Only more shuddered breathing.

Kurt holds his breath and lets his fingers close in, brushing against his arm. "Dave?"

Dave jerks instantly, his face coming up as if he honestly had no idea Kurt was in there until just then. His eyes are wild, almost panicked.

It only lasts a moment before he recognizes Kurt and seems to realize where he is, but that one moment is enough to drive Kurt backwards, to make him remember a locker room, those same wild eyes and that same labored breathing.

Kurt falls back on his heels, hands coming up, palms out. Unarmed. "It's okay, it's just me!"

Dave stares at him, sucking in an unsteady breath. He draws his arms in and sees the phone in his hand, and he looks at it like it's going to bite him. His head drops back against the wall and he draws in a few uneven breaths.

"What? What is it?" Kurt braves leaning in again, though he doesn't reach out. "Tell me, what happened?"

Dave shakes his head, eyes shutting. He breathes in and out, trying to calm himself down in some way. Suddenly, before Kurt can ask him again, his eyes shoot open and the phone in his fist goes flying past Kurt, bouncing against the wall and hitting the carpet with a muffled thump.

Kurt's eyes go wide, but he doesn't move. "Okay...Dave. You're scaring me here, what is it?"

Dave shakes his head, looking back at Kurt like he's...embarrassed in some way, or trying not to be embarrassed. Trying not to ask for something, maybe, that he doesn't know Kurt will agree to.

Kurt is a perceptive guy, usually, but Dave Karofsky has always been pretty unreadable to him. He certainly had no suspicions that Dave was gay until the kiss in the locker room, and he ended up fleeing McKinley because he had no idea how to interpret Dave's actions after the kiss other than to know that they terrified him.

Dave is hard to read on the best of days. This is definitely not looking like the best of days.

But Kurt wonders, watching Dave's arms clench and his body pressed tight against the wall like he's braced all over. He wonders if he understands.

He reaches out, braving a possible mistake, and touches Dave's arm. "It's okay. I'm here, you can trust..."

He doesn't finish before Dave is unfolding and all but collapsing into Kurt.

Kurt swallows, thankful he was right, and he slips his arms loosely around Dave's back. He can feel the shuddering all over him, the way his muscles are wound tight enough to snap, the way his breathing goes even more ragged. Dave's forehead drops into Kurt's shoulder.

He doesn't cry, which Kurt is expecting. He just leans in, breathing so harshly that Kurt's chest aches to listen to it.

Kurt strokes his back, up and down, trying to think of all the ways his dad would hug him when he was upset. He has no clue what's going on, beyond the obvious, but he doesn't need to know to understand what he needs to do. He slowly lets his cheek come to rest against Dave's hair, and if it feels a little intimate Dave doesn't seem to notice.

He isn't sure how long they stay like this, just that Dave's breathing starts to slow down, to even out, and Kurt's legs are cramping in this strange position.

Then Dave speaks between them without moving, and the cramps stop mattering. "Got a call," he says, his voice rough. "From the hospital."

Kurt resists the urge to pull back and study his face for some clue about what's coming. "Bad news?" he asks softly.

"No. That's the...the fucked up thing." Dave snorts, and it's a pretty bad impression of a laugh. "They did these tests when I first got there, and..."

Kurt hesitates, looking down at Dave's hair. "You mean the evidence kit you told me about?"

"No. I mean, yeah, but they also..." He sucks in a deep breath, but still doesn't pull back. His head stays pressed against Kurt's thin shoulder. "Tested, for...diseases. Or whatever."

Kurt understands then. He feels a cold wash come over him, and he can't believe he hasn't thought about this before now. "Oh, god."

Dave snorts again. "No. They...they said I'm okay. That's what they were calling for. Everything was clean. I have to go back in a few months. I guess sometimes some...some things can take a while to show up?"

Kurt sighs out a breath, his cheek dropping back against Dave's hair. If his grip tightens a little around Dave, that's probably understandable. "Oh. Okay...good. That's good." He shuts his eyes, telling himself to relax. Again.

It's tiring, these moments of panic and relief, panic and relief.

His eyes open again, because Dave's still shivering against him. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

It's a lame joke, probably in horrible taste, but after a second Dave breathes out a sound that sounds a little bit like an actual laugh. "Jesus, Fancy."

"What's wrong?" Kurt asks in response. "Are you...worried about...?"

"No. I don't...it doesn't fucking matter. Just...fuck, this sounds so stupid even in my head."

"I don't care, say it."

Dave draws in a deep breath, and then another one, and he finally leans back.

His face is pink, and for the first time Kurt realizes how terrible he really looks. His skin is pasty, his hair a mess. His eyes are red, and the skin under them is so dark it looks like he's still bruised.

Kurt reaches out instantly, brushing back a few limp strands of dark hair. "Have you slept at all since you got here?"

Dave shrugs. His head drops back against the wall, his eyes moving from Kurt to somewhere in the middle distance. "Had some pretty fucked up dreams the first night. Since then..." He shrugs again heavily.

Kurt frowns, but takes the opportunity to shift, to get his legs curled under him so he can sit a little less awkwardly. "We'll deal with that, then. First...what happened after the phone call?"

"I told you, it's stupid."

Kurt slaps his arm, light, before he can stop himself. "I told you I don't care. Talk."

Dave's eyes shift back to him almost reluctantly. He seems to want to smile for a moment, but that moment passes. "The lady, the nurse, she was talking about my next appointment. Said something about..." He rolls his eyes at himself, but his voice is getting more uneven as he talks. "About how long some STDs can take to show up. I mean, she said it...she said 'sexually transmitted diseases', and I thought...I almost said, what the hell? You know? I haven't been sleeping with...with anybody."

Kurt shuts his eyes for a moment, swallowing.

"I almost said it, just like that. 'What the hell, lady? I've never even fucking _had _sex, why are you testing for..." Dave brings his hands to his face, the heels of his hands digging into his temples. "And it hit me. Guess I _have_ had sex."

"Dave." Kurt's eyes open and he reaches out, pulling one of Dave's arms down. "Hey." He grips Dave's hand with both of his, feeling it trembling through his fingers. "You know better than that, right? It wasn't sex. That isn't anything like..."

Dave shakes his head, scrubbing his free hand under his eyes almost angrily. "Sure it was. That was the whole...the fucking _point. _They said they were gonna fuck the fag out of me. Said when I knew what it was like to have a real man's dick in my ass I'd stop being queer real fucking fast."

Kurt's grip weakens around Dave's hand. His breath sticks in his throat.

"Said they were doing me a fucking favor. I was gonna thank them later, when I was...was _better_. Fuck!" He pushes his head back against the wall, hard enough to hurt. "Fuck, why can't...it fucking happened, why can't I _deal _with it? Every fucking hour it's like I realize it all over again." Dave wipes at his eyes again, his movements jerky and tense.

"Dave." Kurt's voice is small. He wants to be steady, to be strong and firm and confident, but his voice isn't cooperating. "It was a week ago. It was _yesterday_. No one expects...no one deals with something like that this fast."

Dave shakes his head, but he doesn't argue.

"Listen to me." Kurt leans in, gripping Dave's hand hard. "I haven't even started dealing with this yet, and it didn't even happen to me!"

Those words don't help, he sees instantly. Dave's eyes open and land on Kurt's face, and the pain only grows deeper. "Fuck, Fancy. I shouldn't have...you shouldn't have had to..."

"No. We're not going to do that." Kurt's voice is gaining strength then. "You're not going to play martyr. You have too much else to deal with, you're not going to blame yourself for my part in it." He slips his fingers through Dave's and clutches his hand tightly. "If you had to go through this alone because I wasn't here...do you understand how much worse that would be? For me?"

"You don't owe me anything, Kurt," Dave answers, his voice lower. Maybe the exhaustion is catching up to him, maybe he's just too tired to be upset anymore. "You should've just...heard the news like everyone else. Maybe you'd've felt bad for me, but...Christ."

"I don't care what should have happened. I'm telling you straight out, Dave – if you gave me a chance to go back a week and never get involved in this, I wouldn't take it. If I could stop the whole thing from happening I would, but other than that...I'm right where I want to be. Okay?"

"Why?" Dave asks, a rasping sound that hardly sounds like a word.

Kurt hesitates, and when Dave looks out at him with those bright hazel eyes, he knows the answer is important.

He has to answer the right way, and he has to be honest. He and Dave, their history together, it has to affect his answer. He can't just murmur some platitude about being Dave's friend, because they weren't friends before this. He can't say something insipid about how no one deserves to suffer alone, because that isn't right either.

No one does deserve to suffer alone, but Dave isn't here on the floor of Kurt's guest room because he's a wounded stray that no one else would adopt. It's nothing that generic. Dave is here because it's Dave, because the things that happened between them mean something.

He lets out a breath and looks down at his hands, realizing for the first time that he's clutching Dave's broad, scraped-up hand between his. He hesitates, swallows to coat his dry throat, unable not to notice how much bigger Dave's hand is between his own pale, thin fingers.

"I know I only said it at the hospital," he says slowly, trying to put his reasons into words, "but I forgave you for what happened between us a while ago. In fact, I can tell you exactly when."

Dave studies him, hardly seeming to breathe as he listens.

Kurt lets his thumb brush over a long, red puff of a scar still healing down the knuckle of Dave's index finger. "You remember when we were in Figgins' office, when he was telling me and my dad about the Bully Whips and trying to talk me into coming back?"

Dave nods, short and sharp.

"I was sitting there listening to your dad – and this was back when I thought he was an actual human being – talking about what a great kid you used to be. A cub scout." He smiles faintly.

Dave seems to try to smile back, but his eyes stay rapt on Kurt's face and it isn't anything more than a twitch.

"I realized listening to him...when he said he didn't know why the bullying started, of course I realized that he didn't know anything about you. But...I know as well as anyone that you don't wake up gay one day. That you were still...back when you were a cub scout you were still this thing he has no clue about. Whatever changed, your grades and your bullying and all that, that wasn't you becoming a different person. It was you starting to lash out, because nobody saw or knew the person you've been your entire life."

He smiles faintly. "Maybe it sounds like pity, but...it made me sad, Dave. Even before I came out, everyone knew exactly who I was. I've been alone sometimes, I've felt alone because no one around me could quite understand my problems, because they aren't like me. But I have never been lonely. I have never had a single problem that I couldn't talk to my dad or my friends about. And when I think about what it would be like, coming out, realizing what I am and how different I am...when I think about going through that without my dad's support or my friends' understanding..."

He shakes his head, looking down at their hands again. He squeezes Dave's hand gently. "I saw that you were alone, and lonely, in a way I never had to be. And I forgave you for everything you ever did to me, because I can't understand how it feels but I doubt I would have dealt with it any better."

He looks back at Dave's face, studying him, trying to see what's behind the gleam in his eyes. "You're me. You're what I very well could have been if I hadn't been so lucky. Everything that's happened to you, even what happened last week, could have happened to me. I won't let you go through the aftermath without help. I can't let you be alone anymore, Dave. Maybe...maybe that isn't a good reason, but..."

Dave shrugs suddenly, blinking those bright eyes and instantly wiping at the dampness that slips down his face. "It's good enough," he says quietly. "It sucks that I went from...terrorizing you to being some...fucking _obligation_. But..."

Kurt straightens, tightening his grip on Dave's hand. "Okay, stop that. I'm pouring my heart out here, you're not allowed to simplify it by calling yourself an obligation. I'm here because I want to be, not because I _have _to. Okay, we were never friends or anything. But why can't we be now? Maybe it's not the healthiest time to develop a friendship, but I like you. I like the side of you I've seen since I left Dalton. And we have things in common, things not a lot of other people understand. You've needed someone to be there for you for years, Dave, and you didn't have it. So let me be here for you now."

"You have no idea how fucked up I am right now, Fancy," he answers, and suddenly he's staring at their hands like _he _just realized that Kurt is holding on to him so tightly. "This phone call, this shit...it's just, there's so much..." He gives up with a hissed breath. "I'm a giant fucking mess whose been sitting on the floor here so long that my ass is numb. You're fucking crazy if you're really thinking 'yeah, let me have a piece of _that_. That's just what I'm missing in my life.'"

"Shut up." Kurt lets himself smile a little, though, because the stark pain in Dave's eyes has started to recede. "I'm a flamboyant gay boy prone to fits of melodrama. If you were less complicated I'd be bored with you."

Dave smiles, frail, but nods after a minute. "If you're really dumb enough to want to be friends, then..." He shrugs, but his smile as small as it is seems sincere. "I'm up for it."

"Yeah?" Kurt grins.

"Solidarity, right?" Dave holds up his arm, his hand in a fist. "Go Team Rainbow."

Kurt laughs, maybe a little wetly but whatever. When he gets to his feet and tugs at the hand he's not let go of since he grabbed it, Dave groans and pulls himself to his feet. Kurt lets him go, smiling, and tries not to notice that his hands feel strange and empty without Dave's between them.

He hasn't solved any of Dave's problems. He's not really in any position to counsel him about what he went through, and he has no idea how to make any of it okay. But Dave has one more friend now than he used to, and maybe that will be worth something in the end.

* * *

><p>Kurt almost goes downstairs to tell his dad that they should wait another day before forcing Dave down to dinner with the family, but when he knocks on Dave's door and says that dinner's ready if he wants some, Dave opens his door and comes out, blinking around like a groundhog emerging from hibernation.<p>

He still looks like hell, pale and exhausted and unsteady. But he comes out, and he lets Kurt help him down the stairs, and he only seems a little bit terrified of the kitchen and the voices coming from it. And that's a world better than where he was this morning.

Kurt just has to make sure it lasts.

When they both come through the kitchen door Finn is sitting at the table already, long legs stretched out in front of him. He's talking to Carole as she moves around finishing dinner, and Kurt's dad is by the fridge pouring dark glasses. Tea, Kurt assumes. His dad is on an iced tea kick since Kurt started forbidding him to drink sodas.

Finn's eyes move to the door as they come in, and his eyebrows shoot up. He sits up, grin fading. Whatever he's saying, something about Figgy's assembly, trails off into nothing.

Carole, bless her, has more sense than her son. She glances over and smiles at Kurt and Dave as if there's nothing unusual about them being there. "Have a seat, boys. I hope salmon is okay with everyone, because otherwise...you can learn to cook yourselves."

Kurt smiles and nudges Dave towards the table. "Carole is my biggest ally in my plot to get dad to eat like a grown man," he informs Dave, shooting his dad a grin. "She does allow us to skip the health food and buy our own dinners, except on Fridays, but usually I eat what dad eats. Peer pressure, and all that."

Dave doesn't answer, but he doesn't seem to mind the chatter. He sits down beside Kurt, across the table from Finn, and his eyes go to Finn uncertainly.

Finn is definitely not as relaxed as he was when they first walked in, but he nods at Dave, who nods back.

Kurt rolls his eyes, but as silly as teenage boys and their 'wassup' nods are, it's still a good sign.

Carole comes around and sets plates down in front of them. She leans between Kurt and Dave, and though she doesn't look at Dave directly she's obviously talking to him. "Whatever you don't finish is Burt's lunch tomorrow, so it's okay if you don't clean your plates."

Kurt digs into the salmon and rice and vegetables with gusto, his own nervousness about dinner fading just like that. He should have known better than to worry – Finn might be awkward on a good day, but his mom is...well, a mom.

Talk goes on around the table the same as any normal dinner. No one pushes Dave to talk, like there's a concerted effort to keep the mood light and the spotlight off their guest. Too concerted an effort to be a coincidence, but it just makes Kurt love the group of them all the more to think that they talked ahead of time about how to make this easy for Dave.

Dave sits there silently. Sometimes he looks around at them as they talk, sometimes he studies his food like it's trying to communicate with him. He takes a few bites. Not nearly enough, and Kurt's mood diminishes when he realizes that by letting Dave fester in the bedroom he's got no idea how much Dave has eaten in the last few days. Carole has taken him food up and left it outside the door, but Kurt hasn't checked with her to see how much actually gets eaten.

Dave is like two hundred and fifty pounds of seventeen year old muscle, and someone like that needs to eat. Maybe he looks as exhausted as he does because he's dropping weight, because he's completely neglecting himself.

It seems obvious, but it does dim Kurt's mood. His dad, luckily, thinks about things that Kurt doesn't. His dad knew that a few days locked in a bedroom was more than enough.

Sometimes Kurt thinks his entire view of the world is skewed now in a way it wasn't before last week. When he thinks about the few details he just learned about what happened to Dave – and he will think about it, he knows, it will probably steal his sleep from him tonight – it makes him think that there's an entire aspect of people, or the human condition or whatever, that he never saw before.

He thinks about a group of boys cornering their friend, their teammate...driving his head into a wall, threatening to fuck the fag out of him and then...then actually seeing their threats through...

He thinks about that and he realizes that he doesn't know the first thing about people. And it's absurd, because he's seen the mocking, cruel side of people all his life. But when he thinks that people can hurt each other the way Dave was hurt, he suddenly doesn't understand them at all. They're an alien species, the kids who attacked Dave.

He needs this, dinner at home, his dad and Carole, even Finn, who is awkward but trying. He needs this to remind him that the people who attacked Dave aren't normal. They're not everyone. They're the worst side of people, the worst possible versions of human beings.

Kurt's dad, Carole, Finn, they're the best versions. They're compassionate and caring and they love each other, and they obviously care about Dave even though they have reason to distrust and dislike him.

The best of people and the worst of people, all in one day. It's disconcerting, and it isn't helping Kurt reach any kind of epiphany about it all.

All he can figure is that there are horrible people like Jason Campbell and his buddies, and there are wonderful people like his dad and Carole. And most everyone else in the world is probably somewhere in the middle.


	10. Chapter 10

If nothing else he's determined not to leave Dave on his own anymore. He let Dave have his solitude for the last few days and it seems to have done more harm than good, so enough of that. Kurt's going to school; that gives Dave eight hours a day completely on his own.

Other than that, though...no more knocking on doors and murmuring good night and good morning without expecting an answer. No more leaving him alone.

Kurt is feeling his way into this caretaker role that he's assigned to himself, but he _will _become fantastic at it. Just might be some trial and error involved at first.

His new resolve kicks in immediately, but he allows Dave to go back to his room after dinner without stopping him: Kurt has an overdue phone call to make, and dinner was a big step as it is.

"You're not going to be happy with me," he announces into his phone when Blaine answers. He shuts the door to his bedroom and moves to his desk.

"_Okaaay," _Blaine answers slowly, though his voice is smiling. "_Better go ahead and tell me, whatever it is." _

"It's Dave." Kurt hikes his shoulder up to hold the phone at his ear as he reaches out to type his password into his laptop to get the screen up.

"_Karofsky?" _Blaine doesn't sound like he's smiling anymore.

"Remember when I told you he got hurt?" Kurt hasn't done anything normal in days, it feels like, so when he opens up Facebook he sighs to realize he has no idea what's going on in the world. "I meant it. He was...he was really hurt. And it's not something he did to himself for attention or to manipulate anybody."

"_I'll take your word for that, but I'm still waiting to hear why I'm going to be mad at you." _

"He's here. At my house. Staying."

There's silence in his ear.

Kurt scans his Wall idly, and it's the same inane chatter from his mostly-Glee friends. Mercedes and Tina bought shoes (Kurt goes ahead and Likes that, and it feels surreal somehow). One of Rachel's dads twisted his ankle. (Puck Liked that, because Puck is kind of a dick.)

He sees Santana's name, but the profile picture isn't her old one. He leans in and squints, and smiles to himself to see that she's taken a picture of the Bully Whip logo from the old red version of the jacket, and that's her pic.

He clicks on the picture to see if anyone's said anything about it. She tagged McKinley High School but no one individual, and her own comment on the photo is, _"Everyone deserves to be safe. And if you don't join I will fucking destroy you." _

No one else has commented. Probably too scared. Azimio and about a hundred other people have Liked it, though. Kurt adds his name to the list.

He's starting to become aware of the silence in his ear. He sighs and takes up the phone again, rolling his shoulders out. "Blaine?"

Like he was just waiting on the encouragement, Blaine all but cuts Kurt off. "_I can't believe your dad is allowing that. I can't believe Finn is allowing it. God, Kurt, I'm all for lending a hand when people are in need, but do you have no sense of self-protection at _all?"

Kurt sighs and turns away from the screen. Facebook browsing is a mindless routine, which is why he's doing it. But it seems a little disrespectful, somehow, to be occupying himself with something so trivial.

He owes Blaine this conversation, he should probably focus on it.

"You don't understand."

"_Then _tell _me! What's going on over there?"_

Kurt glances over at his closed door. He lowers his voice unconsciously. "I'll tell you the same things everyone at school knows about already. I can't tell you more, though, it's not my secret to give out."

Blaine doesn't answer, just keeps waiting.

Kurt stands up and moves to his bed, dropping down on his back with a sigh. "Dave came out to his dad, and his dad pretty much kicked him out."

"_Are you sure about that? Sounds like a good sto-" _

Kurt frowns. "Seriously, stop that. Just let me talk, and then you can vent all the passive-aggressive doubt you want to, okay?"

Blaine sighs into the phone, but sounds a little less tense when he answers. "_Okay. Sorry."_

"His dad kicked him out, and I'm _sure_ because my dad went over there to try to talk to him about it. And whatever Dave's dad said...Dave's here now. So even if you think I'm being an idiot, you know my dad isn't, right?"

"_Kurt...I said sorry. I'll keep my mouth shut. And I don't think you're an idiot, I just think...I don't know, that you haven't seen the bad side of people like I have."_

"Keep listening," Kurt answers grimly. He looks up at his ceiling, wishing Blaine was here in person. "Dave went to stay with his best friend from school and ended up coming out to him, too. He...didn't react well. Told a bunch of his jock friends, and the next day at school..."

"_Oh, God." _There, finally, is the hush, the gravity.

Kurt's relieved. He loves Blaine partly because they have so much in common. They can both be remarkably self-absorbed sometimes, and Blaine tends to think that because he's had some bad experiences it makes him an authority on Badness in general.

_"Tell me, Kurt, whatever it is." _

The gentleness in Blaine's voice is almost worse than the anger. Gentleness gives Kurt permission to go back, to stop distracting himself with cheerful family dinners and Mercedes buying shoes.

He swallows, trying to just speak the words and not actually put himself back in time. He doesn't want to _see _it, he just wants to say it. "They really hurt him, Blaine. He spent two days in the hospital, and he's still..." He hesitates, drawing in a breath and shaking it off, looking over at his computer screen because if he's studying the screen than he's not seeing blood-spattered walls and torn fingernails.

"They...Blaine..." He draws in a breath, lets it out. He's fine. This isn't anything he hasn't said before. He said it the very next day, didn't he? Talking to his dad on the phone, just blurted it right out.

This is harder, though. Blurting is easier, maybe, than knowing what he's going to say and trying to prepare. Maybe this is harder because he knows Dave wouldn't want him talking to Blaine about it.

Probably.

But he isn't telling Blaine for Dave's sake. He needs...he needs someone to tell, someone who doesn't know Dave or like Dave. Someone who will think about Kurt first. If it's selfish, he hopes he's earned a little selfishness in the last week.

He opens his mouth to blurt it out, to make it real all over again like he did on the phone with his dad. But it doesn't come.

"_Kurt...you can tell me." _Blaine's voice is still gentle, and Kurt knows he isn't thinking of Dave at all anymore.

He can't say it outright like he did with his dad. It's not _right, _Kurt seeking comfort like this. He didn't go through it, he didn't get hurt. He's trying to tell Dave's secret for his own benefit, and his throat won't let him do it.

_"Okay." _Blaine speaks after another pause. _"It's alright, Kurt. I believe you. He was hurt and it's bad, and it's real. I won't question it anymore. If your dad let him in then it's got to be okay, right?" _

"Right." His voice is uneven, and Kurt laughs at himself but it comes out a cracked breath of air and nothing else. "God, I'm a mess. Why am _I _a mess?"

_"What did you see?" _Blaine asks in turn. _"I know you, Kurt. You've got a big heart but you already know that bad things happen to people. This is something else." _

"Yeah." But Kurt can't answer the question.

He rolls over on his side, shutting out the bright computer display, the cheerful profile pictures and status updates of all his friends leading all their normal lives.

He already feels a little like he's tearing in two different directions. He's going to class, going to glee rehearsals. He's checking his Facebook and calling his boyfriend. He's leaving Dave behind in his little guest room, alone.

He doesn't want that, but...Dave needs his own time, he doesn't need Kurt with him. They're barely friends, brand new friends, and something like this...

God, he still feels guilty that he's the one Dave is sharing this with. He's glad it's him, he wasn't lying when he told Dave that if he were given a chance to step back and let someone else handle things, he wouldn't. But how miserable for Dave to have no one to turn to but a near-stranger that he used to shove around in hallways.

Kurt has a thought, a stark and sudden thought that flickers through his mind and then repeats itself again and again, an echo getting louder instead of quieter.

_This _he speaks out loud, because he doesn't plan to. "I wonder if he thinks I think he deserved it."

_"What? Who, Karofsky?"_

"Dave," Kurt confirms softly. He sits up, drawing his legs under him and looking towards his door. "I wonder if he thinks I'm glad it happened. Even in some small way. Because he used to hurt me. I wonder...does he worry that I might think this is justice, in some way?"

There's a pause. Blaine's answer is delayed, and soft, and curious. _"Do you?" _

"What?" It's loud, almost a yelp. Kurt wants to stand up but there's nowhere to go. He wants to storm off, hang up, outraged because Blaine could even _ask._

_"It's not an accusation, Kurt. Just a question." _

Just a question. Kurt's heart is beating heavier, a minor surge of adrenaline there and gone. But it's a question, so he shuts his mouth and puts a hand over his chest to calm himself, and he thinks about it.

Of course he never wanted this to happen. In his most twisted daydreams on the worst days he had with Karofsky, he never thought about anything like this.

But if it had happened back then...would he have been glad? Even just a little?

He shakes his head, and there's such a strong surge of relief that he can see his hand trembling against his shirt. "No," he answers, and thankfully it's the truth. "This isn't justice. Nothing about this...no one deserves it. Even if he hadn't changed, even if he was still _Karofsky..._"

He lets out a breath, and he's almost glad that Blaine asked that horrible question. Kurt is selfish enough to want to hide in here and make his boyfriend worry about him, but he's not so selfish that he can harbor that kind of resentment. He's relieved to know that about himself.

_"You know,"_ Blaine says after Kurt trails off. _"If he really was wondering something like that about you, it would probably be because _he _thinks he deserved it."_

Relief is gone.

Kurt is off the bed in a flash. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

And for all that Blaine can hold grudges to the point of paranoia, when he answers it's with understanding. _"Just get some sleep eventually."_

"I will." Kurt hangs up fast, but before he tosses the phone back on the bed he sees Blaine's picture on the display and almost feels better. Blaine isn't perfect, but he'll come through for Kurt. Even about someone like Dave Karofsky, he'll come through.

* * *

><p>Despite the instant rush of <em>oh-my-god <em>that drives Kurt off the phone and out of his room, he still paces past the guestroom doorway a full three times before he forces himself to stop, to knock.

The past few days he would knock this way, and just tell Dave good night without waiting for a response.

Tonight, though, not only are Blaine's words echoing through his head but he's also full of all that fresh resolve of his to not leave Dave alone. This time he actually twists the knob and pushes the door open.

"Dave?"

It's dark, but the light from the hallway slices in and Kurt can tell that Dave is in bed.

Not asleep, though. His eyes catch the light when he looks over at the door. Not asleep, wide awake. He's lying on top of the covers, still in the t-shirt and jeans he wore to dinner. He's not even pretending that he was trying to sleep.

Kurt comes in slowly, in case Dave doesn't want him there. "I just..." Okay, what can he actually say? Kurt isn't someone who's used to censoring himself, but lately there seems to be this gap between what he wants to say and what his vocal chords will actually allow.

"You said you weren't sleeping well," he settles on finally, stepping inside and leaving the door open so he can see enough to get to the bed. "I just thought I'd check and..."

Dave shrugs, looking up at the ceiling as he no doubt was before Kurt came in. "If I try to sleep I'll puke."

"What?" Kurt comes up, awkwardness forgotten under growing concern.

"I have these dreams. Fucked up stuff, Fancy, and it makes me..." He shrugs again, trying for casual. The light's almost dim enough that he can pull it off. "I'll puke, and it'd be...rude."

"I think Carole would understand," Kurt answers with a faint smile. He sits down on the edge of the bed, hiking up his knee so he can study Dave. "What kind of dreams?"

"Come on, Kurt."

"No, I mean..." Kurt gestures absently. "Is it...I mean, what you'd expect? Or...?"

"No. Sure as hell not what I expected, anyway. I don't know what a shrink would say about it." Dave snorts a laugh, but his throat works and he tilts his head away from Kurt.

"So? Tell me."

"Is it gonna help anything?"

"Keeping it to yourself doesn't seem to be helping."

Dave snorts again, soft. "The doctor at the hospital, before we left...you know, Fancy, you looked at me like I curb-stomped your kitty cat when I told you to go."

Kurt smiles, remembering how offended he was. "The doctor was hot, that's all. I was jealous."

Dave grimaces instantly. He tries to tilt his head away from Kurt, but Kurt sees it, the downward twist of his mouth.

He frowns, trying to interpret it. "Was he a jerk?"

"No, he was okay. He gave me this doctor's name. Said I should call her. Fucking shrink or something."

"Don't tell me you're one of those cavemen who thinks talking to a psychiatrist is bad somehow?"

"Never thought about it." Dave's expression clears and he looks back up at the ceiling. "Don't be too shocked, but no one ever told me I oughtta talk to someone before this. I did go to Anger Management once."

"Really?"

Dave smiles. "Yeah. Adam Sandler. Great movie."

"God, I can't roll my eyes hard enough right now." He doesn't roll his eyes, though: Dave's smiling. "Seriously, are you going to call her? The doctor?"

"Maybe. I don't know if talking to a shrink is _bad_, but it feels a hell of a lot like I'm saying I can't handle my own shit." His smile fades into nothing. "On the other hand...I'm really fucking tired."

"You slept okay at the hospital," Kurt remembers. "Maybe the medication. But the doctor gave you pills, right? Are you out?"

Dave doesn't answer. He looks up at the ceiling and his eyes seem even more shadowed in the dim light spilling in from the cracked doorway.

"If I was being egotistical," Kurt says thoughtfully, "I'd say it had something to do with my being there. I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm incredibly comforting."

"Yeah?" Dave's mouth crooks a little but that's all the reaction he gives. His eyes are dark, the lighter shades of gold and green all but gone in the darkness.

Kurt stands up suddenly. "Hang on." He darts over to the door and out into the hall, going to his own bedroom.

He comes back in a minute later wheeling his little desk chair in front of him. "Okay. Let's do this."

Dave looks up as he comes in, hiking up on one elbow. "Do what?"

"Last time I saw you sleeping you were in a hospital bed and I was sitting beside you. So..." Kurt wheels the chair up to the bed and sits with a smile. "Here you go."

Dave smiles faintly and shakes his head, dropping back on the pillow. "You're fucking weird, Fancy."

"Weird but _comforting," _Kurt reminds him.

But he isn't kidding about this, and he doesn't want Dave to think he is. So he pushes his smile away and leans in, laying his hand on Dave's arm for a careful moment.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says seriously. "So if you want to stay awake, whatever, but I'm going to be here being weird at you the whole time."

Dave is quiet for a moment. He looks up at the ceiling, and then over at Kurt, and down at Kurt's hand. He frowns to himself, and pushes to sit up.

"Hey." Kurt watches him with a frown. "If you're trying to run away you should remember that I can probably run faster than you right now."

"Don't be oversensitive, Kurt." Dave pushes to his feet and moves a few heavy steps towards the closet. "Just gonna change. I wasn't planning on sleeping. Not dressed for it. That's something you should respect."

Kurt smiles to himself. He turns his head, looking back at the bed and away from Dave. "I won't peek."

Dave doesn't answer.

There's a few muffled sounds behind Kurt's head, footsteps and the shuffle of fabric. The slide of a zipper.

Kurt's not ridiculous, he's not so gay that the idea of any male stripping off blue jeans turns him into a leering maniac. He doesn't peek. He doesn't_ want_ to peek. He sits straight and well-behaved in his chair, following the quiet sounds of Dave moving around behind him without the slightest urge to watch.

Besides, if he did feel any urge...there's probably never been a wronger time or a wronger person to try to scope out.

Dave moves behind him eventually, approaching on shuffling footsteps. "You sit up any straighter your spine's gonna pop out."

Kurt relaxes. Assuming it's safe, he glances back. "Are you actually accusing me of being too straight?"

Dave moves to the bed, and Kurt doesn't look. He doesn't care, doesn't have to look. It's just a guy, a friend. It's just Dave.

His idea of 'changing' was switching out his jeans for some baggy boxers and leaving the t-shirt on, so...there isn't anything to look at, really. Just knees, that's all of Dave that he can see that he's never seen before. Pale knees and broad calves, golden in the pale light from the hallway. Muscles and body hair and knees. And feet, big bare feet slipping up onto the bed.

Nothing. Really.

Kurt clears his throat, trying for disapproval when Dave sits back down on top of the covers. "We're setting the scene here, at least play along."

Dave's brow furrows, but when Kurt tugs the cover he rolls his eyes and tugs the sheet down, hiking his ass up and pushing the cover from under him, curling his bare knees and muscled calves under him and drawing the covers over.

Kurt isn't staring. He doesn't have to stare, he's not some letch.

Still, he can't help but think that his own knobby knees and practically hairless legs would look pretty ridiculous standing next to those.

"Christ, you don't have to avert your eyes quite that fucking hard," Dave mutters, settling back on the pillow. He turns on his side, leg curling up under the sheet as he peers up at Kurt. "Don't worry, I won't go all macho jackass on you. I know I'm not your _type_. My fragile, tender ego, how often it replays those cruel words."

Kurt laughs, and that breaks his not-staring spell enough that he lets himself smack Dave's knee over the covers. "See if I ever apologize to you again. Jerk."

Dave grins.

For a moment, for this tiny little instant between one second and the next, it's a real grin. It's broad and unshadowed, and Dave's eyes squint a little at the corners, and Kurt wants to reach out and trace the rounded curve of his cheek so he can know what that smile feels like.

Which...is weird.

In the next instant, though, the clouds roll back in. Dave's eyes lose the smile first, and then his cheeks smooth down and the curve of his mouth goes flat. Not a frown, just...muscle memory or something, like his face doesn't feel natural with anything but a shadowed frown.

Kurt keeps his own smile in place, though it takes some effort. "So."

"So?" Dave rolls back on his back. "I don't know what you were expecting, but I'm not magically tired."

"Don't be stubborn - you're beyond tired, Dave, you're exhausted. Give it a few minutes, it'll catch up to you."

He rolls his chair a little closer, reaching out to swipe Dave's iPod when he spots it on the table over the closed lid of his laptop. He sits back with the iPod in hand, ready to browse playlists or whatever.

Just like the hospital, if he can ignore Dave long enough that Dave can actually fall asleep. That's oddly hard, though.

Silence manages to settle over them, and Dave shifts a little and then stills.

Kurt tries not to look at him as he navigates to the Fancy playlist, figuring he'll waste time going through it and trying to spot even one song he knows.

He doesn't play any of the songs, he just browses. He doesn't recognize many of the bands, much less the songs, but now and then something seems familiar. He's surprised at some of the names he recognizes - Tom Waits, Rickie Lee Jones, Roberta Flack. A lot of older artists, to be in the playlist of a teenage boy. The kind of music that won't show up in glee club anytime soon, but Kurt is actually a little impressed.

Radiohead, Disturbed. A few groups he recognizes mostly thanks to Finn.

He sees Tom Jones and almost laughs, almost says something. But his eyes shift to Dave, and he's not asleep but his eyes aren't as wide open as they were, so best to let the silence keep pushing him towards sleep.

He distracts himself with the mystery of why these particular people are in a playlist called Fancy. One that obviously has something to do with Kurt, because Dave showed it to him as a secret he was revealing. It means something.

When he sees 'Mad World' on the playlist he glances over at Dave again, wondering if he added it after Kurt sang to him that first day in the hospital, or if Kurt had picked one of his own playlist songs by coincidence. He doesn't recognize the artist singing it, but he doesn't doubt it's the same song.

He almost wants to listen, and he looks towards the earbuds trailing back to the laptop on the table.

But the settled silence breaks before he can move, and his wandering attention focuses instantly back on the bed.

"You know..." Dave says. His eyes are shut now, and maybe that's what gives him the courage to speak, because he sure sounds like he's forcing it out. "I wouldn't have..."

Something about the tone in his voice makes Kurt lean over at set the iPod down. "What?"

Dave's face creases. It seems to be a struggle to get the low words out. "In the locker room. I wouldn't have...I didn't even mean..." He draws in a breath.

Kurt reaches out - it's a risky choice, but it's brought him luck with Dave so far. He slips his arm out and lays his fingertips on Dave's forearm carefully. "What?" he cues again.

"It wasn't even about you. You know that, right?"

It's funny - Kurt will never be able to walk into another locker room without thinking of red spatters and strewn towels, iron air and rasping breaths. But he still knows instantly which locker room Dave is talking about.

It's not the first one he thinks of, but for the two of them...maybe it's a stronger memory. Maybe just a less unpleasant memory, so...easier.

"When you kissed me," he says easily.

"Yeah." Dave's head drops to the side, his eyes opening to take Kurt in. "It wasn't...it makes no fucking sense, but I wasn't even thinking about..." He sighs, looking annoyed at himself. "It wasn't a come-on or anything."

Kurt's eyebrows arch up, but he schools his face into mild curiosity. He stays quiet, because that's usually the best way to make someone else keep talking.

Dave reaches up and rubs at his face, scrubbing his eyes. He's moving slower, heavier, so maybe he really will sleep. Maybe he just needs to say this first. "It wasn't about you, or sex. Or anything like that." His hand drops to the pillow beside his head, and Kurt pays absolutely no attention to the curve of his arm, the smooth line of a relaxed bicep.

He clears his throat softly. "What was it about, then?" he asks. Not because he wants to know. He let that kiss go ages ago.

"I don't know. You were standing there yelling at me, laying shit down on me, and..." Dave laughs suddenly, a little raw. "And I wasn't thinking at all right then, but later when I thought about it...I think I was just tired of people not fucking _seeing _me. Maybe that makes no sense, I dunno. I'm the one who built a fucking steel-walled closet around myself. But I figured that you being gay..." He looks over with a small, crooked smile. "And holy shit, are you ever _gay._"

Kurt rolls his eyes and prods at Dave's arm. "Don't do that. Just talk."

Dave sighs. "I hated you. I mean, I didn't know shit about you, but I hated the idea of you. Partly because you were stronger than me, partly because I thought you'd be able to tell. Especially that day, when you finally came in calling me on my obsessive bullshit, I was sure you knew. But you started barking about what a scared little straight boy I was, and..." He shrugs. "I was always terrified that you'd look at me and _know, _but when you looked at me and just saw that fucking closet, all I wanted was for _some_one to know. How's that for counterproductive bullshit?"

Kurt smiles sadly. He watches his own fingers trailing absently over the sheet near Dave's arm. "The first time I ever said it out loud, it felt like...it was so _big_. It was this huge moment, like I was finally being myself for the first time in my life. And you know where I was?"

Dave looks up at him, waiting.

"At my mother's grave," Kurt confesses. "By myself, talking to a stone. It's not like I thought she was there somehow - if I even believed in any kind of afterlife I would really hope she'd have better things to do than hang around a field and some rocks. I was on my own, and I still felt amazing." He meets Dave's eyes. "So I understand that. How it's terrifying but it's so huge it chokes you sometimes, and you can't _tell_ but you have to let it _out_, and..."

Dave's eyes are glittering. He's nodding, small, almost imperceptible, and his eyes are rapt on Kurt.

They should have talked about this sooner, Kurt realizes. This is the talk they should have had in those strained days after that kiss.

Dave's eyes shut suddenly, and he turns away, and it's like he's in pain suddenly. "Fuck, I should have just...I didn't mean to...to do _that_."

"Do what?" Kurt sits up, worried all over again.

"Kiss you. That was so fucking stupid. I could have just _said_."

There's too much pain there. Way too much for the memory of one harsh kiss. Kurt studies him, trying to figure out where that pain is coming from. "It wasn't..." He rolls his eyes at himself. "Well. At the time I acted like it was a big deal, but it wasn't."

"Don't fucking lie to me. Don't dismiss it like that, Kurt. I _know _it was..."

The answer comes just like that, one thought to the next:

One of them kissed Dave.

One of those three bastard _rapists_ must have kissed him. Kurt understands a flood of other things in the moment after that revelation. He knows instantly why Dave brought up that kiss at all.

He looks at Dave, startled, and draws back in his chair. "What are you dreaming about? Why can't you sleep?"

Dave knows that he knows, it's all over him as he brings his hand to his face and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Say it, Dave. You've got to get it out."

"It's fucking...it's..." Dave drags in a breath. "I can't stop, okay? That's what happens. I can't or I won't fucking _stop. _It's just like a memory, like things really happened, except when you push me away I get...I get fucking mad and come after you, and..._fuck." _

"Stop it. Don't give it this much power. It didn't happen that way, and you know it." But Kurt's voice is shaking a little, and he was honest when he told Blaine that what happened to Dave wasn't justice, but he also had this same nightmare once or twice before.

"That's all. Shit, Kurt, what the fuck use is describing it? You get the point - I'm in that fucking locker room and I come after you and I throw you back against the wall and beat your head in until you stop fighting back, and I fucking...I tear your clothes off and I knock you on the floor and I..."

Okay. Maybe there's catharsis in talking about it, but Kurt stands from his chair and sits on the edge of the bed and grabs Dave's hand to stop him. He doesn't need to hear this.

Dave doesn't seem inclined to go on either way. He lays there and breathes in, harsh and steady, like he's fighting back tears or vomit.

Kurt traps Dave's hand in his - the second time today he's found himself gripping Dave's hand. He's caught by it, though, the way Dave's hand is so much bigger than his. The broad fingers and square palm, the traces of healing scrapes rough against Kurt's overly-moisturized, soft little hands.

Dave is bigger, stronger. Dave is upset, temperamental. He has lashed out before. He has outright _terrified_ Kurt before, and now he's having dreams about...

Kurt grips his hand and speaks the moment he realizes that the words are true: "I'm not scared of you."

Dave pulls at his hand, trying to escape Kurt's grip.

Kurt doesn't let go. "I've been scared of you before, but...like you said, I didn't even see you then. I just saw your panic room of a closet. You kissed me, Dave. Maybe I sighed and complained about it at the time, but god. I had kissed _Brittany_ before, and she was a friend. I tried to claim that you kissing me meant more, because you were a boy, but that still didn't make it a real kiss. It sure didn't count more than me sticking my tongue down a girl's throat trying to prove my manliness to the world."

Dave shakes his head, only getting more tense as Kurt goes on.

Kurt abandons any attempt at levity. "You know why I'm not scared of you? And why if I had thought about it for a second back then I wouldn't have been scared then? Because you didn't _want_ to do it. You shouted, you threatened, you waved your fist in my face. You all but _begged _me to leave. You didn't want me to be there, you didn't want to do what you were about to do. And after it happened I pushed you away, and you know what you did?"

Dave's eyes are shut. He's stopped resisting Kurt's grip - he's gripping back now, almost painfully hard.

"You stopped," Kurt goes on forcefully. "I'm not strong enough to push you away on my own, but you let me go and then you took off. And...there isn't a single thing about what happened that day that makes you _any_thing like those bastards who hurt you. I swear, Dave. I _promise_. You're not like them."

"I keep seeing it," Dave says. He rolls onto his side and reaches out, closing his other hand around Kurt's. "If I'm not...why do I keep dreaming about it?"

He thinks he deserved it.

Blaine was right. Blaine guessed, made a casual remark, and just like that spotted this giant thing that Kurt hasn't noticed until now. Dave thinks he deserved it, even just a littlle bit, and his mind tells him _why _he deserved it by twisting a kiss into an attack.

Dave grasps him like he's going to dissolve away if Kurt lets him go, but Dave isn't the one that's choking on tears. It's Kurt who can't see through blurring eyes, who can't breathe without a painful hitch in his throat.

Kurt can't say anything, that's the worst part. He wants to say a thousand things. Please, you can't hate yourself because of me. You're nothing like that. You would never hurt me and I _know _it.

It's the truth, damn it. He hasn't been scared of Dave for weeks, not even in the last Karofsky days. He hasn't been scared of Dave since the first day he came back to McKinley and Dave and Santana stood there in their absurd berets. Santana tried to make sure the world saw her and her good deeds but Dave just looked _proud. _Like he was finally moving in a direction he was happy about. He was gruff and he rolled his eyes at Santana and grumbled instead of talked, but he moved down the hall with his head held high and his shoulders squared, and Kurt _knew_ that he wasn't going to go backwards.

He needs to tell Dave all this, he needs to remind Dave of the good he's done that completely outweighs one kiss.

But Dave's hands loosen around his, and his shudders slow and his breathing gets heavier, and he's so close to the edge of sleep that Kurt can't do anything to bring him back.

He sits there, forcing his hands to unclench as Dave goes limp. One of Dave's hands slips to the sheet, and Kurt keeps a loose, selfish grip on the other.

He lets go at some point. Dave is snoring softly and Kurt's back is twisting the way he's sitting, so he lowers Dave's hand and pushes himself over to the desk chair and sits.

* * *

><p>When he wakes up there's light in the room, pale dawn slipping in around the drawn blinds of the room's small window. He shifts and something in his neck pulls the wrong way, and his back is immediately bellowing at him for falling asleep in a <em>desk chair. <em>

Dave is still asleep. Curled up on his side, breathing slow and even but otherwise as still as a coma.

All that day when someone at school asks him why he's moving slowly or keeps rubbing at the stretched muscle at the back of his neck, he tells them he slept wrong. But he says it proudly.


	11. Chapter 11

His master plan for keeping Dave company through his recovery was assisted at school that day by Mr. Schue of all people.

It's well known by now at McKinley that Dave is alive, not arrested for murder, and staying at Kurt's house. Still, aside from Jacob Ben Israel randomly sticking his penis-substitute microphone in Kurt's face, no one has said much to him about it.

Not until Mr. Schue sat down beside Kurt while they watched the rest of the club and their dress rehearsal for tomorrow's assembly and their (actually pretty amazing) performance of What's Going On.

"We were talking about Dave Karofsky this morning in the teacher's lounge," Mr. Schue said, almost casual. "We were wondering if David might want to catch up on some of the work he's missing. I can send his Spanish assignments with you, and I'm sure the rest of his teachers can put together a packet for what he's missed so far."

The teenager in Kurt's brain automatically thought that maybe homework is the last thing Dave wants right now. But the caretaker in Kurt, the voice in his head that grows stronger every time he sees tears in startling hazel eyes, agreed to it at once.

So here they are, sitting at the kitchen table with textbooks spread out all over the place, and Kurt still feels kind of giddily pleased at how eagerly Dave jumped on the heavy bag of work he lugged home from school.

"You know," Dave says out of the blue, sitting back in his chair. "You're a funny guy."

Kurt blinks; of course he's funny sometimes, but now isn't one of those times.

"_Je suis incroyablement drôle, merci,_" he answers primly from over his French book.

"Yeah, I don't know what what you just said, but you get the cutest little line in your forehead when you're offended."

Kurt huffs a breath, which makes Dave chuckle.

Distraction. That's what Dave must have been needing. Kurt should have thought of this sooner.

Kurt sniffs a little as if he really is offended, but really he just wants to keep that smile on Dave's face. "How am I _funny_?"

"You just are." Dave surveys him from across the table, and the pencil in his hand taps against the edge of the table absently. "You're this prissy little guy, one of your everyday outfits is probably worth more than my truck. You sing showtunes and prance around with all your gal pals, but..." He shrugs. "You're also kind of a dude, too."

"A dude," Kurt repeats, clipped and precise. "I'm a _dude._"

Dave rolls his eyes with a grin. "It's a compliment, okay? Don't worry, you're still a totally fucking _Fancy _dude. But, yeah, I don't know. I thought you'd be kind of...like you are in the halls at school, you know? Kind of snotty."

Kurt laughs, incredulous but amused all the same. "If this is really your version of a compliment, I think we ought to put the textbooks away and study a little something called manners."

"Hah, yeah, that! Snotty like that!" Dave points at Kurt with his pencil, grinning. "But you're not. I mean, you are right now, obviously, but not all the time. And you say funny little things, and you're so fucking dry I can't even tell what's supposed to be a joke. I don't know, you're just not like I thought you'd be."

Kurt wants to keep pretending to be offended, but his face melts into a smile uncontrollably, and there isn't much use trying to cover it up. "Stockholm Syndrome," he says instead. "You're starting to convince yourself that you like your captor to lessen the trauma of being stuck here."

Dave laughs. It startles out of him – not a chuckle, not a snort, a real bark of laughter – and an instant later he looks a little surprised at himself.

Kurt has to turn the page in his French book to give him something to look at, so Dave can't mock him for the no-doubt-ridiculous beaming smile on his face.

"It's pretty safe to say," he says after a minute, when he's controlled his expression enough to look up, "that the Dave Karofsky I knew from the halls of McKinley isn't anything like the one sitting here, either."

Dave grins, his face a little pink, and looks down at the Calculus book.

Kurt kind of doesn't want to stop now, though. This, the chatting, it's what friends ought to do. It's what will hopefully make it okay that when Dave has another nightmare or something, Kurt is the one here comforting him.

"For instance," he says before silence can establish itself. "I brought you all that fluff work from Schuester and Albright and _art _class for god's sake, and you actually chose to work on Calculus instead."

Dave shrugs. "Math's easy, and Albright is a cow. Fucking self-expression and ending sentences with prepositions and shit. I'm lousy at all of it. And Spanish is just doing the same shit in a different language." He sighs, casting Kurt a solemn look across their homework. "Maybe you ain't noticed, but I don't be speaking English good as it is."

Kurt laughs. "Of course I've noticed, you practically make my refined ears want to bleed. But that fits with your big hulking jock _thing. _You actually liking Calculus doesn't."

"And Physics," Dave says, nudging the next book on the pile, the thick and insane-looking AP Physics textbook. "Don't hate. I'm fuckin' _smart_, bro."

"So I keep hearing," Kurt says, dry. Truth be told, Dave's been tearing through that pile of Calculus assignments with annoying ease, though for all Kurt knows he could be writing scribbles about how much he loves Easy Cheese or something.

"You're gonna laugh," Dave says suddenly. He points that accusing pencil at Kurt again, as if to drive the point home. "You're really gonna laugh, and this can add to that collection of Karofsky's Shameful Secrets you've started up..."

Kurt leans in, setting his pencil down. "I can't wait to hear this."

Dave grins but his cheeks are still pink, and when he keeps talking there isn't a joke in the words, just the expectation that a joke will be made. "I was kinda figuring that maybe I'd go to school for it. Science, I mean. Not to be a...whatever, nerd in a lab coat. I was thinking...I could teach it? Like, in high school or something. Maybe coach a team, too. Like Tanaka, if he'd had a brain. Or a dick."

Kurt has to choke down a laugh. "Or Beiste?"

"If her dick was a little smaller, maybe. Makes me feel fucking inadequate." Dave grins.

When he realizes there's no reason to muffle himself, Kurt stops fighting it and laughs hard enough to make his eyes water. "And you said _I_ was funny. Ma_don_na."

"You are! What _is_ that? 'Madonna, oh dear Gaga, oh my Lacroix.' Why can't you just say 'shit' or 'jesus' like other kids?"

"Shit," Kurt says dutifully in response, because, "you just made a reference to Christian Lacroix, which I have never done in front of you! _You_," he says, accusing, "know things about _things_."

Dave nods at his Physics book, as if there's a chapter about French fashion designers. "Told you, bro. I'm fucking smart."

"No, but...I can see it." Kurt sits back, studying Dave with his fabulous designer's eye. "Coach Dave. The science teacher part is a little harder to picture, I admit."

"Would it help if I talked physics to you?"

There's a note to Dave's voice, a crook in his eyebrow, that makes Kurt's cheeks heat a little bit. But he laughs as he's supposed to. "I don't know if it's the science part or the teacher part that's blocking me."

Dave flashes a wry little smile and looks back at his math.

Kurt doesn't want to let silence fall, but it does, and it's actually pretty okay. Comfortable.

He looks down at his French homework, but his eyes drift up again and he finds himself studying Dave as he scribbles on the worksheets his teacher piled into Kurt's hands earlier.

There are still signs, of course. Even physically, just looking at him. Dave's chin is healing, but the raw red skin is now just a faint pink. One night of sleep hasn't done much to fade the shadows under his eyes, and the hand clenched around his pencil is still scraped.

There are probably worse injuries that haven't faded yet, hidden under his clothes.

He looks drawn, still, though he's more relaxed than he has been in...well, since it happened. From the way the light curves into the angles of his face it's obvious he's lost weight the last two weeks.

He still has nightmares. He still has things in his head that Kurt hasn't managed to get from him yet. But this, the homework and laughing, it's a kind of recovery.

Kurt doesn't delude himself that this is some kind of turning point. He doubts the worst is even over yet. But Dave needs this kind of reprieve from pain. They both do, yeah, but the way Dave grasped at that homework in Kurt's hands like he's been craving even one thing that's the same as it was Before...

This normality is a mask. Or, no, maybe a bandage. Covering up the real injuries, but also kind of...protecting them? Making them better.

Or something. Whatever; Kurt's pretty, not profound.

He laughs to himself softly, banishing the heavy thoughts. Whatever this is, even if it's just a panacea, he's going to let himself enjoy it.

"What?"

He blinks and realizes Dave's looking back at him. Praying he doesn't blush he just shrugs. "I admit to some curiosity, so...talk physics to me, Coach Dave."

Dave blinks but smirks. "Moment's passed, Fancy. You're gonna have to earn it." His eyes go down, but come back up a moment later. "Hey, so."

"Mmm?" Kurt drags his gaze down to his homework. Casual.

"Um." Dave sits back with a sigh, and tosses his pencil down on the table. "So when did...okay, I'm gonna ask this, and you can _not _laugh at me for turning life into a fucking Lifetime movie, okay?"

Kurt looks up, intrigued. "Go on."

Dave flashes a small smile, and Kurt sees that it's a cover. He sees that Dave has as much interest in keeping things cheerful as Kurt does, for however long they can manage it.

"When did you know you were gay?"

Kurt blinks, but he probably shouldn't be surprised by that question. "When did I suspect, or when did I know for an absolute fact?"

"I dunno. Both."

Kurt thinks about it, and it takes him a surprisingly long time to piece out an answer.

That's something he should know, isn't it? It seems like a no brainer - he should open his mouth and the answer should be there, as natural as if Dave asked what his favorite color is.

Dave sits quietly, tilted back in his chair, watching Kurt think his answer through.

"I suppose I've probably suspected it since I first learned what being gay meant." Kurt flashes a smile. "I've always been pretty much the way I am now. It hardly escaped my attention that the other boys in the neighborhood were rough and strange and liked doing all these things I couldn't even imagine enjoying. My dad told me he's known since I was three," he reports, because those words from his dad never fail to make him smile.

Remembering his dad's whole response to him coming out, that instant if reluctant acceptance, makes him love his dad more every day. The acceptance part, of course, but even the reluctance, because it was honest. It was his dad respecting him enough to not sugarcoat his response. Kurt has always thought that the most difficult things need to be faced and dealt with right from the start if they're ever going to be overcome, and he's pretty sure he inherited that from his dad.

"I used to think I just wanted to be a girl," he says, flushing a little at the admission. He's almost nervous to meet Dave's eyes and see what kind of response that gets. "I mean, I liked what they liked and I wanted who they wanted. It wasn't until a couple of years ago that I got over that." He grins sheepishly. "I, um. Sort of started to really enjoy the fact that I have a penis."

Dave laughs at that - important to note because he wasn't laughing _before_ that.

Kurt watches the curve of his cheeks, grinning back because honestly, Dave has no business being so cute when he smiles. 'Cute' is for boys like Kurt. Guys like Dave are supposed to be handsome, or _sexy_, or...

"Anyway," he says fast before his brain can get any weirder.

"Say 'penis' again," Dave cuts in, grinning.

Kurt rolls his eyes heavenward. It's hard not to grin back. "_Any_way," he says again. "I figured out that I didn't want to be a girl, I wanted to be a boy, and I wanted to be with another boy. By then I was old enough to know what the term for _that _was, and it seemed natural to just accept it."

"That's when you knew for sure?"

"For absolute positive one hundred percent sure? No. That happened...about six weeks ago, give or take a few days."

Dave blinks, his grin fading in surprise. "Six _weeks_?"

Kurt shrugs. "The first time I officially got to first base with my boyfriend." He wants to laugh at Dave's astonishment, but then it's really not all that funny. It just is what it is. "I was pretty sure, of course, way before then. But there's always this little voice, this whisper of uncertainty. You know? When I start wondering if I just haven't met the right girl, or maybe I'm just not ever going to love anyone at all. I mean, I checked out boys all the time, but I could also appreciate how gorgeous some girls are, and how was I supposed to really know the difference between those two kinds of attraction?"

Dave nods. He's still gaping, but there's recognition in his eyes.

"Even when I started dating Blaine, sometimes...I'd sit in the choir room and listen to Rachel sing and sometimes I'd think I could never love anyone as much as I love her in the moments when she's _really _good." He grins suddenly. "Then Blaine stuck his tongue in my mouth, and everything clicked into place."

Dave chuckles, but it's uncertain and he still looks a little shell-shocked. "Christ, Fancy. I figured you came out of the womb singing 'I Am What I Am.'"

"Okay, come _on!" _Kurt gapes right back at Dave. "That is a La Cage Aux Folles reference, who the hell _are _you?"

Dave grins, but he straightens in his chair and his eyes drop to the table.

Kurt studies him for a moment. "So when did you know?" he asks into the silence that follows.

"For sure?" Dave shakes his head. "I..."

"You're fresh from the closet, I don't expect you to be absolute yet. But when did you suspect?"

"A while ago." Dave hesitates. "Not...not too different from you, I don't think. Except I didn't ever think I wanted to be a chick. I thought I just wanted to be...Them."

Kurt's eyebrows lift. He waits.

Dave explains slowly, measuring his words as he talks. "I told you about my dad. How he is. He's given money to groups trying to bring gay marriage to Ohio, you know? Openminded and proud. But...there was always this Us and Them attitude with him. So fucking condescending, you know? We'd drive into Chicago to visit his folks, and there'd be guys walking down the street holding hands like it was nothing. And my dad..." He shakes his head.

Kurt debates trying to change the subject, but he keeps his mouth shut and waits. He wants the humor, the cheer, the panacea. But this is more important.

He's Dave's caretaker in his own self-appointed way, but he's also the only gay kid that Dave knows, so...he needs to be that, too.

Dave blows out a breath. "My dad would say shit all the time, about how 'they' were perfectly normal and it was our job as intelligent democratic people to support them. He'd see two dudes holding hands and he'd be so fucking proud of himself for accepting it. 'See, David, they're allowed to be open here, what a great city, we should strive to make Ohio so open-minded. Look at me, not even a flinch. Why can't everyone be as tolerant?'"

He grins, and there's definitely an edge to it now. "He talked that shit about gays, about minorities and immigrants and welfare families and teenage mothers. How it's our _duty _to accept them all, the different ones, the ones who need our smug white-bread asses to speak up for them. 'They' could do whatever the fuck they wanted in dad's little rainbow coalition brain, but I knew even from back when I was a kid that what was okay for 'them' was off limits to anyone who was an 'us'."

Kurt nods slowly, and it actually does help a little bit to explain the mystery of Paul Karofsky to him. He never did reconcile the man's actions with Dave to his words back at McKinley. How can a man stand up for a strange gay kid he's never met, but not come to the hospital when his own son needs him, because his son is gay?

It didn't make sense before, but he's starting to understand a little better. He won't ever truly understand it - at least he hopes not - but he doesn't feel as conflicted suddenly.

"Anyway, yeah. I figured, when I first started thinking something was wrong with me...okay, _different_," he says fast when Kurt immediately opens his mouth to protest that verbiage. "Something was different about me, and I figured it was because I was starting to hate the old man and the best way I figured I could rebel was to become a Them. We'd go out to Chicago a few times a year and I'd start watching those guys walking down Grace Street and I wanted to be one of Them, not one of Us."

He draws in a breath and focuses back on Kurt. "Guess it took me a while to realize that the gay guys were the only Thems I ever watched that way, and it didn't actually have a thing to do with my dad. The first time I realized I didn't just want to be Them, I _was _Them, I freaked the fuck out."

"I know that feeling," Kurt says softly.

"Yeah, sure."

"I do. I know I've always been a Them, at least the way your dad sees things. But when I first thought the words, or said them out loud...especially when I started telling other people...it felt so final, you know? I could have gone on being fabulous and unlabeled, but instead I was choosing to put myself in this box." He shrugs. "It takes a while to understand that nothing about being gay is a choice. I wasn't changing anything about myself by never saying the words. If I never told anyone, I would still be gay."

"Yeah." Dave thinks about that. "Yeah, I guess so. Shit, Fancy. You've really got your head straight with this shit, don't you?"

Kurt smiles. "It took a long time, and a few really embarrassing mistakes."

"Oh?" Dave returns the smile after a moment. "Well, we're being all confessiony, right?"

"I'm not telling you about those mistakes, Dave."

"But. Confessiony, Fancy! We're _bonding_ or some shit."

Kurt shakes his head. "We could be married with twelve kids and not be bonded enough for me to tell you some of those stories."

Dave laughs, another deep, real laugh, and he doesn't even take time to be stunned by it. "You don't have the hips to pop out twelve kids."

Kurt looks down at himself. "Maybe not. So you're volunteering to be the mother?"

"What?" Dave's laughing too hard to seem really shocked. "Fuck that, we're adopting those bitches."

Kurt isn't a girl or a toddler, so what he does can't be called _giggling_, but that's the closest term he can think of. He doesn't have that deep kind of thick laugh Dave does that could be called a chuckle or something equally dignified.

Whatever, he's laughing, he's having a hard time _not _laughing, but Dave's sitting there pink-cheeked and snickering right along with him, and...

It's just really nice.

Not even in regards to Dave, his recovery and all that. It's just fun to sit here doing his homework with someone, having awkward getting-to-know-you conversations and laughing about ridiculous things.

He's getting to know Dave Karofsky for the first time, and what he's finding is that Dave has been hiding a lot more in his closet than just his sexual preference. He's hidden his intelligence, his blushing dream of becoming something as simple as a science teacher. He's been hiding this anger towards his dad, this sense of humor that somehow meshes with Kurt's dry wit in a completely effortless way.

All this revealed over homework. It makes Kurt wonder what else is lurking under the surface, tucked out of sight in Dave's well-guarded closet.

He peers at Dave suddenly, suspicious. "Dave."

"Mmm?" Dave wipes at his eyes, face pink and happy.

"You don't sing by any chance, do you?"

Dave blinks, surprised, and the flush in his cheeks deepens to red. He rolls his eyes a moment too late. "Yeah, _no. _Forget it. No way."

Oh, Lacroix. He _does_.

* * *

><p>Kurt goes to bed with a smile on his face, ignoring the messages waiting on his phone because he's in too good a mood to answer questions or talk about serious things. The assembly he's been dreading all week is tomorrow, but he's feeling so strangely optimistic about things suddenly that he's able to laugh about it.<p>

It will be a trainwreck, but then it will be over, and Friday, and he'll have a whole weekend to catch up on homework or whatever with Dave.

He's got a _friend_. A brand shiny new friend that he actually _likes. _And yeah, okay, they've still got a lot of work cut out for them, but...it's like Kurt is even more motivated now to get Dave through this whole thing, the attack and the closet and school and his dad. He knows how much work is ahead, and he's ready for it in a way he wasn't before today.

Or that's what he tells himself, at least, as he shuts off his phone and climbs into bed and grins into the darkness thinking up ways he can force Dave to sing for him.

But he wakes up in total darkness and stillness, and he hears muffled sounds coming from the bathroom on the other side of his wall, and...and he thought he knew how much work was still ahead. He _does_ know, in his head. As he gets out of bed, though, and drags his feet to his door and straight on down the stairs to get Dave a glass of water to wash out his mouth when he's done puking, it feels like they just took a giant step backward.

That isn't fair to Dave, or to Kurt. They haven't stepped back, they just...got ahead of themselves for a while earlier.

Still, he's disappointed in a heavy kind of way.

When the bathroom door opens and Dave sees him there holding out a glass of water, it's obvious that if Kurt is disappointed by this, the nightmare and the vomit and the lack of progress, than Dave is truly shaken by it.

He follows Dave back to his room and sits on the edge of the bed. He stays with Dave for a long time, humming softly to take the fear out of Dave's eyes as he lets himself fall asleep again, dreading what will find him there.


	12. Chapter 12

"So how's our boy doing?"

Kurt blinks at Santana as she slides into the desk beside his. "You're not in this class."

She hardly glances up at the front – class hasn't started yet, and Mr. Royce is paying them less than no attention. "I usually only see you at rehearsal on Fridays, but thanks to this dumbass assembly we're not rehearsing. So. I hunted you down. Like a dog. Answer the question."

He isn't sure whether to feel nonplussed or touched that she tracked him down for an update on Dave.

He also isn't sure how to answer that question. Dave is...doing well, maybe. Compared to how he _could_ be doing? He's amazing. Compared to a month ago? His life is a nightmare.

Is he getting better? Kurt thought so yesterday, over homework and dumb jokes about having kids and the size of Bieste's dick. But then came last night, the puke and the nightmares and...and Dave fell asleep eventually as Kurt sat with him, humming. But he looked so...so disappointed, and so scared to dream again.

So, how is their boy doing? Considering how many hours there are in Dave's day that Kurt isn't around for, it's kind of impossible to tell.

He stops and starts a couple of different answers, and Santana's eyebrows creep up higher and higher the longer the silence goes on.

"I think he'll be okay," he says finally. Yesterday ended badly, but there was _hope _at that kitchen table, in their jokes and Dave's grins. Good moments, that's all they were. Not a turning point. But even good moments were something, right?

Santana doesn't look satisfied with his answer. "Is he coming back next week?"

"He hasn't...I doubt it."

She frowns at him, like he's not doing enough to drag Dave to McKinley. With a huff of air she slides out of the chair and moves to the door, done with the conversation.

Kurt tries to focus on the lesson when Royce decides to acknowledge that his students exist. But the Bacon Rebellion is _history_. Probably a fitting topic for an American History class, but Kurt just can't bring himself to care. Why should things that happened hundreds of years ago matter when so much is happening now?

Maybe Dave's slide from grins into nightmares has depressed Kurt more than he first thought.

* * *

><p>After class he wanders down the hall. There's still Algebra, French, then lunch, then Chemistry before the assembly starts. He can make it through easily enough. He's been pretending to care about school all week now, another seven hours won't kill him.<p>

But after this comes the weekend.

And Kurt has no idea what he should _do._

He trudges to his locker to trade out his history textbook with his math book, and tugs out his phone reflexively to see if Blaine's sent him any news.

He has a text, but his phone tells him it's from Dave. And that's a name he's not seen pop up on his display since he put Dave's number in last Sunday, making Dave swear he'd call Kurt during the day if he needed anything.

He curves into his open locker, hiding his phone from the passing kids around him.

_Hey, you doing anything on Sunday? I kind of need a favor._

Kurt smiles and types an instant response into the keyboard on the screen. _No plans as of yet. And I'm a sucker for a friend __in need. What do you need?_

He wants to stand there and wait for an answer, but the five minute bell sounds and the crowds are thinning around him, and he sighs in annoyance and shuts the locker door. The answer does come before he walks into class, so he hangs back and leans against the wall and reads.

_I need to go home. I want to get some things and I want to go Sunday when dadll be at church. _

Kurt frowns at the phone and can't think of an immediate response other than 'If you want to go tonight, I'll be more than happy to distract your dad if he's home. I could, say, run over him with my Escalade, over and over again.'

Probably not the best response. He's more than happy to tell everyone in the universe how much he has come to despise Paul Karofsky...but not Dave. Dave doesn't need to hear vitriol towards a man he obviously still loves.

He moves into the classroom without answering, but he keeps his phone on his lap as Mr. Erlend starts class. Luckily the man practically hugs the blackboard for a good eighty percent of his classes, so there aren't many kids around him without their phones in their laps and their text fingers flying.

His phone shivers before he can think up a response, and it's Dave again.

_Ill get my truck too so you wont have to take me anywhere else after this. If you can do it. _

Kurt sighs and answers. _I'll take you. I don't mind at all. I was just thinking that if you want to get a lot of things I'm not the most useful set of muscles you could have asked to come with. _

_Its nothing big. Promise you wont even work up a sweat, Fancy. You can even just dump me on the curb and leave if you want._

Kurt sniffles, annoyed at the implication, but before he can answer Dave sends another message: _Youve got that cute little line in your forehead right now, dont you? Haha._

He grins at the phone and looks up just in case, but Erlend's in the middle of some circumference equation thing and the entire classroom could have emptied out without him noticing.

_You're awfully smug for a guy asking a favor._

_You already said youd take me, cant take it back now. _

_I am an individual in a democratic society, I am practically obligated to change my mind if I want to. It's the burden of free will. _

_Holy crap, Fancy, chill. You dont want to change your mind, youre a nice guy and Im an invalid._

Kurt smiles at his phone, at the little text bubbles going up and up. Dave's answers are fast, he's probably sitting on his little bed upstairs, or in the living room, just watching the phone and waiting.

It makes Kurt's smile soften.

_Fine, you win. I'll drive you down there and go inside with you and help you carry things and everything. I'm a sucker, now you know. Happy? _

_Ecstatic. _

_Dave! That's a three syllable word, I'm so proud! You're letting that rumored intelligence slip out bit by bit. _

There's a longer pause before Dave answers, and Kurt has to deal with that always-awkward creeping worry that the text message format killed his tone and turned his joke into something offensive.

When his phone vibrates again he sighs in relief, and blinks at the wall of text that suddenly appears. Even as he's reading it, another buzz and another wall appear below, and then another.

_So one of the theories in physics that Ive always found really interesting is the principle of uncertainty. Its a quantum physics thing this dude named Heisenberg came up with back in the day. Youd have to know about, like, atomic particles and shit for me to go into a lot of detail, but heres the plain English version of it: you cant measure exactly where an electron is and exactly where its going at the same time. _

Three text bubbles in, Kurt's wide-eyed and can't fight back a shocked smile.

It keeps going: _Its a problem of focus, you know? You can measure both proximity and momentum but not at the same time with the same measurements. So the more you focus on one of those two things, the less accurate the other measurement will be, right? _

There's a pause in the texts. Kurt is staring at these big yellow bubbles on his screen, and he realizes after a second that Dave is actually waiting on an answer.

_You lost me somewhere around 'quantum physics', _he types finally.

_Point is, theres a lot of shit in physics that you can apply to the real world, and thats one reason I like it so much. You can read shit about the movement of atoms and discover this huge truth about the whole world. Like this one theory, Heisenberg. What its basically saying is that if you look at where something IS you cant really focus on where its GOING, and vice versa. My big problem all this time (okay, one of my problems, shut up) is that Ive been fucking obsessed over where I am every damn second. I'm playing this fucking role to be the kid my dad wanted and the guy my friends liked, but since it was pretty much bullshit I had to be so fucking obsessed about every word and movement and whatever being right. Couldn't give myself away for a fucking second._

Kurt's starting to feel a little dizzy – he can barely read one bubble before another one comes in, and he wants to scroll up and start over from the beginning now that he knows this is something serious, but he can't because they just don't stop coming.

_But like the theory says, since I was all obsessed with where I was, I totally fucking missed out on where I was going. So one day I take a sec and look around and realize Im this gigantic fucking asshole and youre scared of me and half the school hates me and the other half is just waiting around for me to fuck up, because theyre all wanting to take my place. So I guess the point Im making here is...Im trying to find some balance. Trying to figure out who I actually am now and where I want to be eventually. Does that make any sense? _

It makes all the sense in the world, and Kurt is grinning like an idiot but he kind of wants to cry, too, because he's so completely and absurdly _proud _of the guy on the other end of this wall of texts.

Before he can type out his awkward response, one last text comes in:

_BTW, Fancy, the other point I'm making here is BOOM, I am TOTALLY FUCKING SMART._

He laughs, and he can't stop laughing. He laughs until most of the kids around him are looking at him. Until even Erlend glances back, wondering what the disturbance is. He sinks down in his chair and clutches his phone, biting his tongue hard to slow down his giggles.

When Erlend is back clinging to the board as he scratches out his boring lesson, Kurt scrubs at his face to calm down. He makes a face at Jacob Ben Israel, who's the only one still staring at him, and he answers Dave finally.

_I almost got kicked out of algebra just now, you jerk. And if you're SO FUCKING SMART why can't you manage the use of apostrophes? I'm starting to think you're allergic or something. _

_Erlend is a boring shit-stain. He doesnt teach, he delivers monologues to his fucking chalkboard. And you should just feel lucky I spell my words correctly. Judging by most of my friends, I shld b txting u mor lyk this lol kthxbai._

_If you did that I would have shut off my phone by now. So you settled on leaving out apostrophes as a way to play the dumb jock? God, it must be complicated inside your head. _

_Well, that and my phone is fucking annoying and you have to hit like three different buttons to get a fucking apostrophe to show up. We cant all have iphones._

Kurt looks up at Erlend, and over at the clock. He could actually put the phone away and listen to what the guy's saying – he does actually want to pass this class. But it feels like homework last night all over again. It feels like he's helping, like no matter how good or bad things are back at the house, even if Dave is physically locked in the bathroom curled on the floor in misery, he's still making jokes into a phone. That has to be a good thing.

So he settles in, crossing his ankles and hunching in his chair. _Don't tell me you're one of those anti-Mac snobs. _

_Funny, I was just about to ask you not to tell me youre one of those hipster douchebags who fantasizes about giving steve jobs a hummer. _

Kurt grins at Erlend's back and Jacob's beady sideways gaze and then settles in to teach Dave Karofsky all about why Apple is civilization and he's to be pitied for his PC-loving ignorance.

* * *

><p>Figgy doesn't open the assembly himself.<p>

It's a good move strategically, since Figgy can be the personification of Insipid, but it's still a surprise. Kurt has no one to explain this surprise to, though, since everyone else in glee is behind the curtains waiting to do their song. Mercedes and Tina would usually be flanking him at these things, and he feels a little lonely without them.

Plus, his phone ran out of juice fifteen minutes into lunch, and he hasn't had a chance to get his charger out of his car.

So he sits here in silence, near the back of the auditorium to make a fast getaway when this torture ends and he's free for the day.

He doesn't know what to expect from the speaker Figgy booked, but the guy who walks out on stage is pretty unremarkable. He's a little younger than Kurt predicted, but he's in a tailored suit (not designer, Kurt can tell, but tailored all the same) and he stands behind the podium with a clicker in his hand and a smile on his face. Behind him the white projector screen they've used to play films about everything from drunk driving to sexual harassment is drawn down in front of the curtain.

"Afternoon, everybody. How are you guys doing?"

Kurt rolls his eyes as a smattering of half-assed murmurs answer the guy.

He doesn't seem put off. He smiles a little wider and thumbs the clicker in his hand. "The first time I tried to kill myself," he starts in the very next beat, "I was eight years old."

The picture that appears on the screen is a blown-up photograph of a grinning little boy in a hospital bed with both arms in casts and balloons tied to the table beside his bed.

Kurt's eyes stop rolling. He blinks.

"That was the year that a kid who lived down the block discovered what a loser I was," the speaker goes on calmly, glancing back at the projector screen. "I had no idea I was a loser, of course. My dad was gone and my mom didn't make a lot of money, but I thought we were doing okay. But this kid, Mike Lewis, had a talent for seeing things like that. When he let me and everybody else in the neighborhood know that I was a loser, I guess it became more obvious to the other kids, because suddenly they were all seeing it. The word spread in school, and eventually I felt like people thought Loser was my name. One day Mike cornered me on the playground and asked why I didn't just throw myself in front of a car. I couldn't think of a good answer, so that's what I did."

He grins, casual about all this, and clicks. The next picture is obviously the same kid – wide smile, missing front tooth, chubby-cheeked and brown-haired and completely ordinary looking. There aren't balloons by his hospital bed this time.

"The second time I tried it was on my tenth birthday. Mike spread the word that anyone who showed up to my party was a sissy fag just like me, and my mom called and called all the parents she knew, watching me crying at my big empty table with my crooked birthday cake. I thought she was more upset about it than I was, but...when I went upstairs to bed I took a handful of those pills in the brown bottle that my mom said could kill me if I got into them."

He clicks. "The _third _time I tried it," he goes on with that same smile, "was two years later, after Mike and two of the kids on his soccer team cornered me on the walk home and tied me naked to a tree just off the road behind our block. They tied one of the jumpropes they were using around my throat, and I tried like hell to choke myself on that thing before someone found me."

This photo is a close-up of a red rashy line of skin across a young boy's throat. There's a hash line at the bottom that the photo is property of the Mason County Sheriff's Office.

The speaker, this ordinary guy in his cheap suit who didn't even bother to introduce himself, grins out. "The _next _time I tried it..." he drawls out, rolling his eyes.

There are a few uncomfortable giggles from the students. Kurt glances around to see a lot of pale faces and not a lot of the usual assembly texting and whispered conversations.

He goes on. And on. He keeps up the levity until attempt number six (the picture is just his school photo from that year, since he tells them that trying to hang himself in his closet didn't leave any marks and his mom never found out). After that the stories get more humiliating, and the attempts get more desperate, and he doesn't smile anymore.

It's story after story of this kid, Mike Lewis, and a growing number of his friends. Embarrassment on top of humiliation, and the kid in the photos looks so damned normal, and he's usually smiling, and Kurt has no idea how anyone else is feeling but he's sick to his stomach. If he saw that kid in the halls of McKinley he wouldn't even notice him. How can six serious attempts to end his life not show on a kid's face?

By attempt nine there are kids in the auditorium _crying_. The speaker talks about his worried mother taking him to therapists, talking to teachers. Social services took him away from home once, but not far enough to escape Mike Lewis, and when he tried to hurt himself at a foster home the authorities realized that his mother wasn't to blame.

He goes through his freshman year in high school before he nearly succeeds in another attempt to swallow his mother's medication. After that they finally move, changing neighborhoods and schools, leaving Mike Lewis behind. After that, he tells the students, he was quiet and solemn and petrified to try to make friends, so at his new school he was a complete non-entity. And he was so desperate to be ignored that a couple of his teachers thought he was mute until his mother came for a parent-teacher conference.

"I hope," he says, solemn now, looking out at the students of McKinley, "that someone has told you guys that high school and the things that happen here are _not _your entire lives. I hope someone told you that when you leave this place you only have to go across town to find jobs, friends, a whole new life where no one knows the things that happen to you in these halls. Because when I figured that out, it was maybe the best day of my life."

He thumbs the clicker in his hand, and some of the students have started wincing at each click. This time, though, there's a palpable shock at what appears there.

A man, maybe young twenties. Not the speaker but impossible to recognize otherwise. He's dark-haired and white-skinned, with eyes that look like he's got some Asian genes. But he's got an obviously broken nose, both eyes swollen shut, lip black and swollen.

The speaker gives them a moment, and then speaks. "This is Mike Lewis. And this is what happened when I was twenty-three and passed him on a sidewalk outside of my very boring and very comfortable job."

He doesn't look back at the picture this time. "The police told me that it took three people to pull me off of him, and to this day I can't remember a moment of it. My lawyer was a very kind and very old woman who tried to get psychiatrists to tell the judge that a lifetime of abuse had made me temporarily insane. I don't know if that's true. All I know is that after even six months in prison for assault it's pretty much impossible to get rehired at the average boring and comfortable job. They might not have been so hard on me, but apparently I shattered some bones in Mike's jaw so badly that he'll never eat solid food again."

He hits the clicker one last time and everyone braces, but the next photo is the first one: a chubby-faced boy grinning at the camera with casts on his arms.

He wraps up his speech with a few solemn words about how people can tell them until they're blue in the face how uncool it is to pick on people. He can't add to that, because talking about it doesn't help anything. All he can say from his own experiences is that there are consequences to their actions that they can't even begin to comprehend.

It isn't deep or stirring, but it doesn't have to be. Kurt's pretty sure the guy made his point at least three photos ago.

Kurt looks out at them, the sea of familiar faces he sees in the halls everyday. There are still more than a few black jackets in the crowd. Not as many as Monday, but Kurt has noticed some people cutting off the Bully Whip logo and sewing it on their backpacks or pinning it to other clothes. Santana seems to be willing to live with that.

His dad told him he almost gave up hope in this school, but Kurt has always known that kids are just kids, that they're stupid and cruel and malicious because they're dumb kids. Ninety-five percent of the time, they just don't understand what the hell they're doing.

Even Jason Campbell, in some horrible way. Dave told Kurt that Jason or one of his two bastard friends said that they were doing what they did as a favor to Dave, to help get the fag out of him. That he would thank them later.

It seems almost impossible to accept, too horrible to be believable, but Kurt wonders if they didn't actually believe those words, even a little bit.

People, he knows, are hardly ever cruel just to be cruel. They rarely do the wrong thing because they're simply evil. The scariest thing about them is that they justify their actions to themselves. They cast themselves in hero roles as they hurt and mock and attack. Somehow they actually believe in what they're doing.

It's the scariest thing about people, that they can make justifications for such evil.

There's no announcement after the speaker walks off the stage in dead silence. Just a moment or two pause, and then the beginning of music.

_"Mother...mother..."_

Kurt watched his friends in glee rehearse this number, but it's different now. The mood in that auditorium is grim and dark and shaken, and the band is playing this slow, dirge-like opening Schue put together.

_"Brother...brother..."_

They've got their costumes on when they start coming out on stage. Kurt has seen them, he helped sew a few of them. But this is different. They're all dressed exactly the same, in this black mesh cover-up that goes all the way up over their faces. It's almost MTV-awards-Gagaesque, the mesh stretched over their faces. A commentary about conformity, Rachel said during rehearsals when they were sewing and planning.

The end version of What's Going On is slower than the original or the remake, and as they sing one by one they tear off the face masks, tear off the black mesh, and they reveal themselves in these bright and wonderfully contrasting styles. Rachel is in her most obnoxious poodle-skirtish ensemble, and Tina has overdone the goth. Finn is in his jersey, Mercedes looks utterly fabulous in her normal layered style.

It's a protest song, but as New Directions performs it it's about overcoming, not just fighting back. They start out exactly the same, and it's eerie and _wrong. _In the end their differences are all clear and they're all together and it's triumphant. It's a challenge to the people who would attack them for their differences, and Kurt almost regrets that there isn't someone up there representing for gays.

It's not about Dave. Finn was right. When Kurt ran out of that first rehearsal Finn said that this wasn't about Dave, it's just a statement. Unity, like Mr. Schue said. Celebrating differences instead of trying to beat them out of each other. Kurt doesn't regret leaving, because it _is_ about Dave to him. But it's powerful, and when they finish he's the first one on his feet clapping.

* * *

><p>He goes backstage as the students are filing out to leave for the day. He helps collect discarded black mesh bits from the stage, and he makes Rachel squeak when he hugs her, hard.<p>

"Sometimes your ideas are pretty amazing," he says to her with sincere admiration.

She's got too-bright eyes when she pulls back, but she smiles her superstar smile. "My ideas are _always_-"

"Don't ruin it."

He goes to find Mercedes, and he wasn't in the performance but he enjoys the post-song adrenaline buzz as much as any of them.

When Mercedes asks if he wants to go to Breadstix, though, he begs off. It's been a much better day than he was fearing, but he doesn't think he's the only McKinley student who leaves school today not in a mood to party.

It's a shame the glee club was backstage while the speaker was up. As much as he loves all (most) of New Directions, some of them could benefit from the lesson. And most of them could do with seeing that their silly love-triangle problems are so much less than what some kids out there have to deal with.

He doesn't say that, though. They're all cheerful and they should be: it was a hell of a performance.

* * *

><p>There's a strange car outside of his house, a sedan with dark windows.<p>

Kurt's already feeling like a mostly uncovered wound, he doesn't know what to make of this car and he isn't sure he wants to find out.

But the car is at his house, and Dave is _in _his house, so. He pulls his car in behind the strange sedan and climbs out, eying the car and the silent house in turn.

When he opens the front door, voices from inside cut off. He peers in around the door uncertainly, and there are two women sitting in his living room. Two unfamiliar but well-dressed adult women.

And Dave.

He's going to ask what's going on, but his eyes catch on Dave's face and his stomach drops to his feet, and his bookbag is on the floor instantly as he hurries around the coffee table to Dave's side.

"What? What's going on?"

Dave doesn't look at him. His eyes are on the ground, he sits in Kurt's dad's usual armchair with his back straight and his head bent.

Kurt closes in and his hand finds Dave's arm instantly. Dave doesn't flinch, doesn't even seem to notice he's there, but Kurt has to fight back a gasp of surprise at how hard and _tense_ Dave feels.

He leans in, searching Dave's face. He's pale, he's fucking _white, _and he's breathing unevenly. And he just stares at the ground.

Kurt straightens and faces the two strangers. "What's happening," he says, a demand this time instead of a question.

The younger of the two women is dark-haired, dark-eyed, possibly Hispanic. Her hair is pulled back, her makeup is perfect and understated. She steps forward after a moment's silence and holds out her hand. "You must be...Kurt?"

"What's happening?" Kurt asks again instantly, ignoring her hand. He isn't letting go of Dave.

She goes on smoothly. "My name is Gloria Martin, Mr. Hummel. I'm a prosecutor for the state of Ohio. This is Missi Vander-"

"I don't care who you _are!" _He's snapping at strangers. Adult women. A _prosecutor. _His living room is an episode of Law and Order and he's yelling.

Dave shifts under his hands. He doesn't look up, but he speaks dully. "Tell him."

The prosecutor, Gloria, whoever, looks down at Dave, then back at Kurt. "We're here as a courtesy, Mr. Hummel, to update David on the case against-"

The second woman, Missi, steps forward to join the prosecutor. She speaks more bluntly. "The state's offering those kids a plea deal."

Kurt blinks. He blinks again. He looks down at Dave, and finds himself stumbling a bit until he catches himself on the side of the chair.

He sits on the arm beside Dave. He looks at those two women. "What?"

"It's not unusual," Gloria the Prosecutor says with a quick and disapproving look at her friend, "in cases like this. In the end it's better for all parties. It avoids the complicated and lengthy process of a criminal trial. It keeps David here from having to testify, to-"

"_What?_" He can't even think. He sits there and stares at those two women, and wishes suddenly and fiercely that his dad was home.

"We're not just letting them walk out the door," the prosecutor says, her voice tense suddenly - this sounds like not the first time she's spoken these words.

"Not most of them," the other woman answers, low.

Kurt blinks at her - he still can't think, really, but he wants to know who she is exactly.

She looks straight at Kurt, and something in her face matches this nameless surge rising up in him, currently held back only by shock. "Two of them played lookout. They gave us a lot of ammo against the other three. They say they didn't know what their friends were planning, and the official position is that we believe them. At this point the three who took part in the attack are close to deals - they'll plead guilty and the state will offer reduced sentences."

"Do you...don't you have any idea what they _did?_" Kurt's hand is clenched hard around Dave's shoulder, but Dave either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

Prosecutor Gloria answers now, and there's definitely a threat in her eyes as she looks over at the other woman. "The decisions are made, the deals are close to being final. Frankly, we're not under any obligation to consult or even inform Mr. Karofsky about the plea bargaining process, but Detective Vanderhoek insisted we come speak to David directly. Now, if you'll excuse us-"

"David." Missi, the other woman, the detective, slips past the prosecutor, deliberately getting between her and the chair Dave sits so frozen in. "You've got my card, okay? You give me a call any time, we'll talk about this more soon."

Behind her Gloria Whoever's lips thin, but she simply turns and heads for the front door.

Detective Missi frowns up at Kurt when Dave doesn't move. She reaches into her pocket. "Here, I'll leave one with you, too." She holds out a small plain business card with a tiny little police badge in the corner. "Use it if you need it, either of you."

Kurt stares at the card. He slowly takes it, but he can't look at her. Even if she cares, even if she fought this...this whatever they're doing.

"Just go," he says, clenching his fingers around the card.

The door isn't even shut behind them before the one woman lays into the other, their sharp voices muffled from inside as they fade slowly away.

Kurt looks down at the card in his hand. He realizes that he's close to ripping Dave's shirt and he orders his hand to relax a little bit. It's slow in responding.

Dave still doesn't seem to notice. Not Kurt's fierce grip, not the women leaving, not Kurt when he eventually stands up and asks Dave if he's okay.

Dave doesn't move, not for a long time.


	13. Chapter 13

Kurt holds out the business card with the little badge on the corner.

His dad takes it with a hiked eyebrow and glances at it. "What does this have to do with calling Dave down for dinner?"

"He isn't coming."

His dad hands the card back and waits.

Kurt lets out a breath, glancing towards the staircase leading up.

After sitting frozen for a long, long time earlier, Dave vanished from the living room when Kurt stepped out to get him some water, and he's been up in his room ever since. Kurt knocked before he came downstairs, but there was no answer and he's pretty sure this isn't a good time to push the issue.

"This woman, this detective." Kurt looks down at the card. "She was here with Dave when I came home, with some prosecutor."

His dad is already frowning. "Uh huh?"

"They were telling Dave about the plea deals they're giving all the guys they arrested."

"Uh huh." His dad's face doesn't change.

Kurt swallows. "The two who didn't actually hurt him...they're letting them go because they gave up the other guys. The other ones are pleading guilty and they're gonna get reduced sentences. And Dave should count himself lucky that the _fucking _prosecutor lady is willing to even tell him what's going on, because apparently he's the least important part of this whole thing."

His dad regards him, expression unchanged, and Kurt almost thinks that he's missed something, that this isn't the big deal he thought it was. But it _has_ to be, right? How could that not be a big deal?

Then he sees that there's a vein in his dad's jaw that's throbbing, and realizes he just swore without his dad even blinking.

His dad glances towards the kitchen suddenly when Carole and Finn's voices drift out, talking over each other in some cheerful mother-son chat. He turns back to Kurt, looking calm as anything. "Tell Carole to save me a plate." He reaches out, plucks that card out of Kurt's hand, and heads up the stairs.

Kurt watches his dad's back, and relief makes him sag a little bit. Of course his dad will take care of this, in whatever way he can. He isn't Dave's dad, but Dave has no dad of his own to fight this kind of battle for him. No dad who's willing to fight.

A burst of laughter from the kitchen draws his attention. Kurt heads over, pushing through the door into the kitchen and somehow the smell of roasted chicken and the sight of Finn drumming his silverware on the table and singing something while his mom watches and laughs just...makes him feel even worse.

Finn sees Kurt and his performance stops. "Hey, bro."

"Carole, dad says save him a plate. And I'm...Dave and I aren't really hungry, okay?"

She turns to him, her laughter fading. "Kurt?"

He doesn't wait for her questions or concerns. He flashes whatever kind of smile he can dredge up and turns and drags his feet out of the kitchen.

He moves upstairs slowly, feeling heavy and worn somehow.

The speaker at the assembly today...Kurt wonders to himself why speakers like that are only there to speak to the bullies. The man was a victim, but he didn't tell stories of almost a dozen suicide attempts in order to get through to kids who were in the same boat. He was talking to the bullies, or the ones who stand by and don't do anything.

He wasn't speaking to Dave, or to the glee kids or the mathletes or anyone else who might have a suicide attempt in their past or future. To them he only offered a few words at the end - this isn't your whole life, once you leave here no one in the real world will know, or care. These years don't define you. And that's a good message. Sometimes it's easy to feel like high school is the whole world.

But it's not enough.

Then again, what would a speaker talk about if he wanted to get through to the victims of these crimes? 'Suck it up, kids, because obviously there isn't any justice anywhere?' That might be too grim for a powerpoint presentation in an auditorium, even if it's the truth.

Kurt stops outside of Dave's door. He knocks quietly. "Dave?"

No answer.

"Dave, I told Carole you weren't hungry. There will be...leftovers in the fridge, probably, if you...get hungry later." And what the hell is he saying? Leftover chicken, who cares about leftover chicken?

He shakes his head in annoyance, but there's no answer to his words anyway and he plods on to his own door. He can hear his dad's voice, muffled, from his and Carole's bedroom. He doesn't sound happy, but Kurt slips into his bedroom without trying to overhear. If anything happens his dad will tell him, and anyway Kurt has seen enough Law and Order to know that no one's angry dad ever did anything to change the mind of the bitch prosecutor.

He sits down at his desk and picks up his phone. He scrolls through his contact list, wondering who he can possibly talk to about any of this. Who could make any kind of difference?

He pauses at Santana's name. (Well, she's _Satan_ in Kurt's phone, but. Same thing.) He doesn't call her, because if he tells her what happened she'll just yell in his ear about all the things he's already angry about.

Instead he texts her: _He's not coming to school Monday. He's having a really rough day. _

A text comes in even as he's sending that one, and he blinks in bemusement to see it's from Finn.

_hey is something going on is karofky okay_

Idiot step-brother. Kurt sighs but answers him instead of taking the trip downstairs to actually talk face to face.

_He's not okay. But it's nothing you can help with. _He sends it and stares at the screen, wondering what to do next.

He debates calling Blaine. He actually debates calling Sue Sylvester, remembering her offer to help Dave if he needed anything. In the end he slips his phone in his pocket silently and ignores his computer. He goes to his bed and lays down on top of the covers, looking up at the ceiling and thinking, absurdly, about any episodes of Law and Order that he can remember. Wondering how things usually turn out for the victims on those shows.

Not well, he seems to recall. Usually not all that well at all.

* * *

><p>His life has become this roller coaster of ups and downs, over and over. Laughing through Algebra thanks to texts from Dave, then laying in his bedroom losing hours on a Friday night because the idea of getting up and functioning is so absurd.<p>

Up and down, panic and relief, laughter and then _this_, this dull empty ache.

Sometimes the motion sickness makes him ill. Sometimes it's a relief.

He lays on his bed long enough to hear pounding footsteps coming up the stairs, and a sudden loud knock on the door across the hall from his.

Dave's door.

Kurt sits up, frowning.

"Hey, Karofsky? It's me."

Finn? Kurt gets to his feet and moves to the door fast, ready to storm out and tell his brother to leave Dave alone.

"Hey, you awake? Look, dude, this is gonna sound stupid, but...Puck's out with Lauren, and Mike's doing something with Tina, and Rachel's going to Temple or whatever, and I'm pretty sure Quinn hates me right now, so.."

Kurt is at the door when he hears something, a low mutter of a response that he can't understand through the two shut doors standing between he and Dave.

Finn snorts. "Relax, dude, if I was asking you out I'd've brought flowers, or, like, some serious medication or something."

Kurt's eyebrows fly up.

"It's just everyone's out, and I love Kurt, he's my bro, but dude can't even work a controller much less make a head shot. And...Halo. You know? We used to play ctf on Live sometimes, I know you don't suck. And I'm _bored_."

Kurt rolls his eyes, half in shock and half amused at his idiot brother. But even as his hand touches his doorknob, there's the quiet creak of a door opening, and a low voice mutters something.

Finn says "Awesome!" and two sets of footsteps go down the stairs, one fast and heavy, one slow and unsteady.

Just like that, Kurt's roller coaster car is heading back upwards, and he drops his hand from the knob and tells himself not to call his step-brother an idiot. Not ever again.

* * *

><p>It only takes about five minutes before temptation gets the better of him and he heads out into the hallway and down the stairs, as quiet as he can manage.<p>

They're sitting on the couch, and Finn's got the volume up way too loud the way he always plays. He's being his usual self, crowing and jerking the controller every direction at once, yelling at the screen.

Kurt can only see Dave's profile. Dave isn't anything like as into it as Finn is, but he's focused on the screen, and his hands jerk a little as he works the controller. He isn't smiling, but he isn't miserable-looking, at least if Kurt looks past the pastiness of his skin and the shadows under his eyes.

Some shot he makes or whatever has Finn shouting at the screen, some violent mockery about someone sucking his something (Kurt has learned to blank out when Finn's yelling at a video game). Finn leans over and holds out a hand, and Dave smirks and slaps it reflexively, and as Finn keeps on playing Dave blinks at the controller and Finn, looking a little shocked at himself.

Kurt's vision seems to narrow to just Dave's profile, to that surprised glint in his eyes, and the way he looks back at the screen with the smallest private kind of smile on his face before he focuses on playing again.

Finn is a _genius_.

* * *

><p>Kurt's been sitting on the stairs watching two idiots shoot things, completely unable to bring himself to leave, long enough that his ass is going numb, when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He jumps, but of course no one hears him thanks to the loud-enough-to-be-real-gunfire sounds of the TV. He tugs out his phone and frowns at Santana's name on the display.<p>

Still, if he doesn't answer it she'll probably show up screaming. He gets to his feet and moves up the stairs as he answers. "Hello?"

"_Yo, ladyparts." _

It's not Santana.

Kurt recognizes who it _is, _it's a distinctive voice, but he still answers slowly. "I'm sorry, there's no one by that name here."

"_Yeah? That's not what Santa's phone says. Got it right on the display – 'Ladyparts Hummel'. And shut _up_, woman, I'll call you whatever I want."_

Kurt wants to grin about 'Santa' or bristle that she's actually got him stored in her phone with that ridiculous name, but despite his relief at Dave's little smile a minute ago Kurt's not in a good enough mood to do either.

"What do you want, Azimio?"

"_What the fuck you think I want? You're the one texting my girl about people having rough days and shit. What's going on?"_

Every time Azimio talks Kurt feels like he needs a moment to digest everything. Okay, Santana is apparently his 'girl' now, in whatever meaning the slang usage is granting. And Azimio is calling to ask about his text.

Oh! Azimio is calling about Dave.

That's a good thing.

Kurt goes back into his bedroom and shuts the door. "I thought the text was pretty self-explanatory: Dave's having a rough day."

"_Oh, shit, little girl's getting an attitude. _How_ is he having a rough day, sweetie?"_

Kurt's mouth twitches upwards a little, but he clears his throat and schools his voice. "If you really want to bleed me for information you might want to start by dropping the use of emasculating nicknames. I respond much better that way."

Azimio barks a short laugh into the phone. _"Whatever you want, butch. Answer the question."_

Kurt rolls his eyes. He can't help but think, though, about the things that have brightened Dave up the most lately – doing homework, playing Halo, sending texts about physics. All things that he use to do, things that for the past couple of weeks have been taken from him. Normal things, things from Before.

Kurt may not like Azimio Adams (though it's really infuriatingly hard to actually _hate _Azimio Adams), but he is a huge part of Dave's life Before.

So he decides to take a chance. "Maybe you ought to ask Dave about it yourself."

There's a pause in his ear, the chatter of female voices in the background wherever Azimio's calling from. Kurt doesn't believe in God, he's not superstitious, he knows there's no Greater Force in the world listening to his wishes, but in the pause while he waits for Azimio he crosses his fingers and _hopes_.

"_Hell, if it means I can get back to using emasculating nicknames...probably worth it." _

Kurt grins and slumps back against the wall. "Santana can tell you how to find the house, if you want to come by tomorrow or Sund-"

"_I'll be there in twenty minutes. Make sure he's dressed to receive. Bitch."_

The phone clicks in his ear before Kurt can answer. He stares at the display for a second, annoyed, before he realizes what's actually happened. He leaves his bedroom and looks down the stairs towards the sounds of warfare, but hesitates and turns, going to his dad's door instead and knocking quietly.

His dad answers after a minute, looking rumpled and irritated. "What?"

Kurt only flinches because he knows that tone means things didn't go well for his dad calling the detective lady. "Is it okay if one of Dave's friends comes by in a few minutes?"

His dad stares at him as if he asked the question in French. He frowns suddenly, sharp, but tugs his door shut and moves around Kurt down the hallway. "Come on. Family meeting."

Kurt follows him, shoving his phone back in his pocket and wondering. They're not really the kind of family that has meetings. They do their formal dinner once a week and actually usually eat together most other nights, and they're all wide open enough that anything on their minds gets hashed out without having to arrange some kind of gathering.

His dad is downstairs fast, and by the time Kurt gets to the first floor the tv is on pause, screen bright orange in mid-explosion. Finn's looking confused – as usual – and Dave is getting to his feet like he isn't sure what to do with himself.

Kurt's dad has vanished into the kitchen, but he comes back in a few seconds with Carole behind him, wiping her hands on a dishrag.

"Sit down, Kurt." Burt goes over to his armchair, but gestures Carole to sit as he stands behind it.

"You, uh." Dave gestures up the stairs. "Want me to-"

"Sit."

Dave glances over at Kurt, but sits back on the couch as Kurt comes over to join him and Finn.

Burt surveys the three of them on the couch. He rests a hand on Carole's shoulder, and Kurt wonders if he's even aware he's doing it.

"David." His dad speaks firmly once he gets going.

Kurt can feel how tense Dave is suddenly, even though they're not close enough on the couch to touch.

"Dave," his dad says again, frowning at the boy in question. "You probably know that you would never have set foot in this house if it wasn't for Kurt."

Dave winces.

Kurt sits up instantly. "Dad."

His dad holds up a hand, eyes still on Dave. "Kurt is the reason I brought you here, we all know that. We've had our issues with you before, kid, and they're not the kinds of things a parent gets over just like that."

Kurt leans in to Dave unconsciously, seeing the defeat that sends his shoulder slumping. He adores his father more than any other human being alive or dead, but that doesn't mean he won't stand up off the couch and face the man down.

"Okay, we all on the same page here?" his dad goes on. "You owe Kurt for your coming here. But."

Kurt's hand is on Dave's leg without his even thinking about it. He stares at his father in challenge.

"But you _are _here now, and last I checked we weren't running a halfway house. You're under my roof in my home. That means as far as we're concerned me and Carole have three kids now."

Dave looks up at that, simple naked shock on his face. "What?"

"You heard me. I don't like the idea of a dad turning on his kid. I wouldn't like it any normal time, and this isn't a normal time. You need a family around you right now, and you shouldn't have to wonder when we're gonna drop a bill in your lap or kick you out. I want us all to be crystal clear on this: nobody in this room is a _visitor_ here."

A grip seizes at Kurt and he looks down to see Dave squeezing his hand, seemingly entirely unaware that he's doing it. He stares at Kurt's dad, and Carole, back and forth. There's nothing in his face besides shock.

Kurt slips his fingers through Dave's and swallows, looking up at his dad with a growing smile.

His dad looks back at him, then glances at Finn. "Everyone clear on that?"

Finn shrugs. "If I've gotta deal with two brothers at least I know these two won't try to steal my girlfriends."

All eyes turn to Finn. Even Dave, seeming to start breathing finally, looks over.

Finn grins, but his face flushes pink. "Just saying."

Kurt wants to laugh, to tackle Finn in a hug that will turn him beet red and make him stammer for a good hour after.

But he can see in Finn's eyes that it isn't really a joke. There's understanding there. Nobody accepts a huge change in their home this easily, but Finn knows why his mom and Kurt's dad are doing this. He knows Dave needs them, he knows Dave needs some kind of security.

And if he can play the earnest idiot and help make that happen, that's what he's going to do. It's Finn: it's what he _does_.

Kurt clears his throat, hand tight around Dave's. "I just want to say, for the record, that I have never loved any of you more than I do right now."

"Yeah, well." His dad clears his throat, and his eyes dip down to Kurt and Dave's joined hands. His eyebrow arches, but he shrugs. "It's not all good news, Dave. We expect things of our kids. You're gonna have the same curfew, the same house rules. These two have to keep up grades if they want us to keep them fed and sheltered and give them an allowance. You...we'll talk about that. We're gonna get you back to school, but we'll work out a timeline for that. Your doctor said something about a therapist he wanted you to talk to?"

Dave's throat works. He glances at Finn, but nods.

Kurt smiles – Dave will learn fast that they don't hide much in this house, and that Finn won't take any family gossip to school.

"Okay. We're gonna set that up." His dad frowns. "There's nothing official about this. As far as the cops and the hospitals are concerned, I've got no business poking around in what's going on with you."

Instantly Kurt realizes what brought this decision on: his dad called that detective and didn't get anywhere, because he has no real connection to Dave.

His dad is studying Dave. "You're seventeen, right? As soon as you're eighteen it won't matter much who's on record as your guardian. Until then I'll do everything I can, kid, but it's not gonna be everything I want to do, and it won't be everything you need to get done for you. So I'm not gonna pretend your dad isn't a factor anymore. I'll talk to him, see what I can do there, but don't expect much."

"I don't," Dave says. His voice is soft, amazed. "I don't...I didn't expect..."

Kurt knows the little smile that his dad tries to hide – he knows it well. His dad has a really strong sense of duty when it comes to his family, and he's always done what he does for Kurt because it's his job as a dad. He doesn't expect thanks or credit, as far as he's concerned he isn't doing anything more than any father would. But Kurt sees this proud little smile on his dad's face every time Kurt can't contain himself, every time he has to tell his dad how wonderful he is, and how much Kurt adores him, and how grateful he is for everything.

He smiles like that at Dave now, at Dave's stunned eyes and the way he's gripping Kurt's hand like if he lets go he'll wake up.

The doorbell rings suddenly, and Dave and Kurt both jump at the sound.

Kurt's dad nods at the door. "Dave, that your friend?"

Dave frowns. "I don't-"

"Yeah." Damn, Kurt didn't get a chance to even tell Dave about Azimio. "Probably."

Dave looks over at him.

Carole stands up, smiling as she has been for most of the meeting. She grabs his dad by the arm. "Well. Burt and I are old, and we just had a _kid_. We're going to bed early."

Kurt can't let his dad walk past without jumping off the couch and hauling him into a tight hug. It means letting go of Dave's convulsive grip, but it's not like Kurt has any choice in the matter.

"You're amazing," he tells his dad softly.

"Yeah, I do okay," he answers with a smile, pulling back and squeezing Kurt's arm. "Keep it down, boys."

He and Carole head up the stairs as the doorbell rings again.

"Um." Kurt is left with Dave and Finn. He grins. "So, that'll be Azimio."

"What?" Dave's so-recently-drained tension comes shooting right back up his spine.

Kurt shoots Finn a meaningful look. "Yeah, so. You two are gonna want to talk or something."

Finn rolls his eyes and sends the tv and its freeze-framed video game explosion a regretful sigh. "Fine, whatever." He pushes to his feet and heads for the stairs, muttering something about Facebook and planting crops and pathetic Friday nights.

Kurt ignores him (as much as he can, he does still owe him the kind of hug that Hollywood ends epic movies with) and goes to the door. He didn't want to spring anything on Dave, but maybe it's best to get Azimio in here before Dave can start dreading it too much.

He opens the door, and the moment he sees that Azimio isn't wearing his letterman jacket is the same moment he remembers that that would be potentially disastrous, so he has to deal with one of those panic-and-relief moments before the door's even open all the way. Azimio is in his black Bullywhip jacket instead, and Kurt doesn't _like _him but he finds himself smiling all the same.

"Yo," he nods at Kurt in teenage-boy-greeting.

Kurt rolls his eyes, but pulls the door open wider to let him in. Dave is standing when Kurt looks, standing with fists clenched at his sides, tense and pale.

Azimio moves in past Kurt. He stares right back at Dave.

Kurt shuts the door, and just like that there's tension in the air thick enough to almost see. He hesitates – it's like a facedown, like two gunfighters eying each other across a dusty street. Kurt knows how the Jets and the Sharks would handle this, but he has no idea how two macho teenage boys do things.

He moves in past Azimio, going around the back of the couch and trying to read the atmosphere. He chased Finn upstairs; maybe he should go too? Or maybe leaving them alone is the worst thing he could possibly do.

"So, uh." Azimio shrugs suddenly. "My bad, dude."

Kurt gapes at him.

Dave moves just like that, like he was just waiting for an excuse. He stalks across the room to the landing where Azimio's planted. His right hand curls into a tight fist, and as he gets close his arm swings up and back.

Kurt grabs the back of the couch. God, this was such a bad idea.

The sound of the punch landing is loud, a snap, like something in a movie that Kurt would have dismissed as a cheap sound effect. Azimio stumbles backwards, hand flying up to his jaw. He hits the wall beside the front door and almost instantly blood starts tracking down the side of his mouth.

Dave turns and goes back to the couch. He shakes his hand out as he walks, flexing his fingers. He doesn't look at Kurt, just drops on the couch and grabs his abandoned controller and the tv remote. He knocks down the volume setting on the tv and drops the remote on the table.

Kurt stares at the back of his head, and over at Azimio. He can't decide if now is the right time to panic, or if he should have gotten started on that already.

Azimio rolls his neck, hissing a breath as he touches his mouth and pulls back bloody fingers. He works his jaw, snakes his tongue out to sweep at the blood, and wipes his chin on his jacket to clear up more. Then he pulls himself off the wall, tilting his head back and forth as if making sure it isn't going to fall off.

He stumbles the first few steps, then seems to collect himself and manages to walk towards the couch.

Kurt watches him, gripping that couch, terrified.

Azimio drops on the sofa beside Dave. Dave tosses him Finn's controller. He unpauses the game.

It takes a good two or three minutes of shooting, jerking controllers and guys on the screen getting their brains splattered everywhere, before Kurt realizes that...what, that this is it?

He moves around the couch and drops in his dad's chair, staring at the two boys on the couch.

"Fuck, D, behind-"

"Got him...shit, bastard's hiding over the wall."

"No problem, I'll just...fuck me, not even a flash grenade. Whose game is this? Fucking Hudson doesn't know how to fucking equip."

Kurt manages to relax a few minutes in, even glancing over at the screen now and then when there's a particularly jarring noise. His heart is starting to slow, that's a good thing.

There's a good fifteen minutes of playing, of muttered comments and no eye contact, and Kurt is just about ready to abandon all hope that two seventeen year old guys are capable of any meaningful conversations with each other.

Then Azimio speaks up, eyes on the screen. "Okay, man. Cynthia Prasad."

"Stop it, he's fucking cloaking, you're wasting ammo. What about her?"

"I had to – shut the fuck up, bitch, I know how to play – had to listen to you bitch and moan about her for like six months solid freshman year. You telling me I sat through your pansy-assed whining and you never even wanted to fuck her?"

"Fuck you, she was awesome."

Kurt leans in to listen, chin in his hands.

"Fuck _you, _she was vagina and I hear you ain't into that. Jesus _Christ, _bitch, did you just fucking shoot me?"

"Oops." Dave doesn't even smile, doesn't look over. Keeps mashing buttons. "Bruce Willis."

Kurt glances at the screen, because...what?

"Mother_fuck_er, take that, pussy!"

"_Nice!" _Dave holds out a hand.

Azimio slaps. He sits back and they keep mashing their controllers. "Okay, guess I see your point."

Dave grunts.

"Bruce Willis?" Kurt can't help himself. "That was a _point?_"

Dave glances over, and his mouth twitches up. "Z's spanked it to Bruce Willis movies more than any porn."

"Hey!" Azimio leans in and elbows him. "Don't fucking belittle what me and Bruce have. That ain't queer shit, fuckers. That's _love."_

"Uh huh. Hey, how's that 'I'm John McClane's prison bitch' fanfic working out?"

"Your _face_ is John McClane's prison bitch, fag."

Kurt tenses.

"Jealous?" Dave grins and hits some wild combination of buttons that makes the TV roar in Kurt's ear.

Kurt relaxes. Maybe it's time to accept that he just doesn't understand straight guys. Or, apparently, straight-acting gay guys. "I'm confused."

"No one's talking to you, Ladyparts." Azimio glances over at him, but grins. "D's point is that Bruce Willis is a sexy-ass motherfucker, and you don't have to be a woman or a fag to appreciate that. So maybe to his hormonal fifteen-year-old ass Cynthia Prasad was hot like Bruce – which isn't the fucking case, just so you know, she was cute but she ain't Bruce – but that doesn't mean he'd fuck her. Or any other chick."

Kurt gapes at him.

"Which, okay, I get that. I mean, shit, I don't _get _it, because it's fucking gay. But whatever." Azimio jerks his controller and crows at whatever happens on the screen. "_There's _your plasma rifle, motherfucker!"

Kurt looks from him to Dave and back again. "Wait a minute."

"_What?_ Christ, D, can you get your fucking wife to go bake us some cookies or something?"

Dave rolls his eyes, but glances at Kurt. "It's cool, okay?" And he flashes a faint smile, so Kurt can tell that it isn't _all _cool, but...somehow it's still okay.

Somehow a fist in the face and Halo and Bruce Willis made things okay.

* * *

><p>When he finally leaves the two infants to their plasma rifles, the first thing Kurt does in the safety of his room is call Blaine: "Tell me something: why do we even like boys? They're <em>confusing<em>."

Blaine laughs into his ear. _"But they're cute, right? That makes it worth it." _

Kurt thinks about Dave's slack face and awed eyes as he looked up at Kurt's dad. Or the little grin on his face when he was first playing his idiotic video game with Finn. Or the way he clutched at Kurt's hand so hard, terrified to believe what Burt Hummel was telling him.

He sighs into the phone, but can't stop a smile. "Yeah. I suppose that helps."


	14. Chapter 14

"What's so funny?"

Kurt shakes his head, bringing his phone closer to his chest even though Blaine is sitting across from him and can't see the screen anyway. He grins up at Blaine as his giggles fade. "It's Dave. He...he says hi."

Blaine smiles, eyebrows raising.

Kurt looks back at the phone, tapping to reply to Dave's text (and really, _'So hows Eyebrows McHairgel doin these days?' _can kind of be interpreted as Dave saying hi to Blaine).

_He's fine, and be nice to my boyfriend. _

Kurt sets his phone down and looks across the table at Blaine, grinning cheerfully. "You ought to come down to Lima more," he says, a common complaint. "These illicit meetings halfway between our respective towns feel so tawdry."

Blaine laughs. "I'm going to tell Rosita that you think her caesar salads and cheesecakes are 'tawdry'."

Kurt glances over, but their regular Saturday afternoon waitress is off at the counter, chatting with the cook. "You know what I mean. It's a long drive but you could visit everybody, and I could drag you out with the girls and show you off, and..." Kurt peers at him in challenge. "And I know you want to get some mall time in."

"Guilty." Blaine laughs. "But I don't mind meeting halfway. It makes it feel special, doesn't it? To come so far for the express purpose of seeing each other."

Kurt considers that. "Still. Shopping."

"Mmm, true."

His phone buzzes and Kurt grabs it.

_Why the hell should I be nice to that douche? You getting laid doesnt do me any good now does it?_

Kurt grins and responds quickly. _Nobody is getting laid, you oaf. And you should be nice to him because when he's unhappy it makes me unhappy, and when I'm unhappy I can get really shrill._

He slides the phone back on the table and looks up at Blaine. "Okay, so. Next weekend at least, you're coming to Lima. I'll arrange a whole day with Mercedes, dinner at Breadstix, Rachel can badger you for Warbler plans for sectionals. It'll be a whole event."

"She's already thinking about that? Seriously?"

"Stop it, like you don't already have your theme all picked out."

Blaine smiles.

Kurt's phone buzzes.

_Wait a minute – you can get shrill? Like...more high pitched than you already are? Ive been hearing the Barry White version of Fancy all this time?_

Kurt laughs and pecks out a quick response, shooting Blaine an apologetic grin. _You have no idea. I'll take out a pair of eardrums like it's not even a thing._

"Strange." Blaine speaks fast when Kurt lays his phone aside. "I didn't picture Dave Karofsky as a big texter."

"Me neither. I think being alone in the house so much isn't helping. But dad's talking about getting him to a therapist and then back into school, so hopefully he'll start getting out more."

Blaine's bemused little smile fades. "How is he doing, anyway? I guess I should have asked."

Kurt shrugs. "There are good hours and bad hours. I...I _think _he's doing really well, considering, but I don't know how much I'm not actually seeing. Like, last night ended up being a really good night. His friend came over, they were...weird and macho and hetero at each other for a while. It was good for him. But earlier that day he got some news that..." He puffs out a breath. "I don't know, honestly. Things seem to be happening so fast that there's no time to react to everything. I could barely tell you how _I'm_ doing lately, much less speak for somebody else. I think if I were him...I wouldn't be handling things so well."

"Do you think it's a-"

Kurt's phone buzzes. He grabs the phone with a smile. "Hang on."

Blaine sits back, watching him.

_Hey, your dad just said hed take me by my house tomorrow if you dont want to. Also no offense but if I knew how cool your dad was back when I was being a dick I think I wouldve hated you even more._

_I want to take you, it's fine. I figured if you were up to it we could go get some lunch after? Somewhere quiet, you know, just to get you used to the world again. And no offense taken – I'm used to being the target of dad envy._

Kurt sends the message and wonders instantly if it's maybe too soon to plan something like a public lunch. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything – he was planning on asking Dave while they were on the road if they could stop somewhere. He should have stuck with that, casual might have been better.

He sighs and looks across the table at Blaine. "Do you ever get the feeling you're in over your head? Or...no, you _don't _think you're in over your head but that just makes you wonder if you are and you don't even realize it?"

Blaine shrugs, sipping from his chipped ceramic mug of diner coffee. "I generally don't think about things like that. Worrying about something that you can't control is useless, right?"

"Maybe, but..." He frowns, toying with his phone, worrying about Dave on the other side of that message and what he's thinking. "If another person could be at risk, isn't it worse _not_ to worry?" His phone buzzes, making him jump. "God, sorry, hang on."

_Thats cool, theres a gyro place a couple blocks from my house. I eat there all the time usually, surprised Im not going into_ _lamb withdrawal or something. Ill tell your dad not to worry about it._

Kurt relaxes with a sigh. He deliberately sets the phone aside without answering, more than aware of Blaine sitting there quietly, stirring his coffee.

"Okay. Done." Kurt lets go of any creeping feelings of worry. He grabs his water and sits back. "You know my favorite thing about coming here on Saturdays?"

Blaine smiles then, leaning his elbows on the table and balancing his coffee in his hands. "It's the bathrooms, isn't it? This place has fantastic bathrooms."

Kurt rolls his eyes (and shudders a little, because Rosita is nice and the cheesecake is _really _good and everything, but this is a diner and its bathrooms are...diner bathrooms). "Guess again."

Blaine thinks it over. "Something to do with me, or is my ego getting way out of control?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. To both, I'm sure."

Blaine chuckles. "I give up."

Kurt stretches his arm across the table, and when Blaine reaches out instinctively to grip his hand it does something warm to Kurt's stomach. "Seeing you like this."

Blaine's fingers slip through his loosely. "Like what?"

"You know." Kurt studies him – okay, Blaine likes hair products, sure, but on weekends he tends to go sparingly. He's out of his Dalton uniform, even if he does dress a little formally even on his off days. "Like this," he says, waving a hand gracefully between them. "Slumming."

"Slumming?" Blaine laughs, eyebrows arched. "And here I try to dress so well for you."

"You do!" Kurt grins. "Anyway, it's not like you have to impress me anymore. You already won me over." His phone buzzes suddenly. They both glance over and Kurt sighs, slipping his hand from Blaine's. "Sorry, I should check. In case."

Blaine shrugs, sitting back, looking unbothered.

_So I guess Zs going out with Santana now. And yes Im texting you gossip, shut up._

Kurt grins and answers quickly. _It's not fair that you even know gossip. I'm the one in school with these people everyday._

_Yeah but Z doesnt like you. And youd know if you were here, Santanas telling me about it right now._

_Santana's at my house?_

_Dont worry, I wont let her mess with your stuff._

Kurt laughs quietly. _I'd be more worried if it was Rachel. Now stop texting me, I'm doing boyfriend things._

_Damn, Hummel, people are gonna think youre a total queer if you say shit like that. _

_It's all part of my plan for scoring chicks, _and Kurt can't even keep a straight face pecking that into his phone. _Ladies love gay boys._

_Santana says to tell you shes got a strap-on with your name on it and jesus I cant believe she told me that and I typed it into my piece of shit phone. _

Kurt has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing loudly enough to disturb Rosita. He shoots Blaine a helpless look and answers fast. _Promise me you'll wipe off anything she touches. And leave me alone before I get dumped in the middle of a diner._

_Yeah yeah, turning off my phone. But seriously? Tell Warbler von Douchebag that its cool to let his hair dry out now and then. That slicked shit was tired in the fucking fifties. James Dean aint coming back, man, let it go._

Kurt decides to be the better man and not dignify that with a response. He deliberately holds his phone out as he powers it off entirely. "God, I'm one of those people I hate, texting in front of company."

Blaine smiles, though he does seem to relax a little when Kurt stashes the phone into the pocket of the jacket laying in the booth beside him. "I guess that wasn't a crisis?"

"If you call Santana lurking around my home 'not a crisis', than no." Kurt shrugs. "I just get a little worried, sorry."

"It seems like maybe he doesn't need you around as much as you think he does," Blaine answers, lifting his coffee cup and surveying Kurt over the rim before he sips.

Kurt frowns at that. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Just...you're answering texts because you're worried, but he's obviously not texting you about anything serious. Did you ever think maybe he really isn't as distraught about whatever happened to him as you think?

Just like that, the laughter seems to dry up from Kurt's mood.

He draws in a breath, and lets it out slowly. "Nobody should be miserable twenty-four hours a day. If he needs to pretend he's okay and laugh now and then, I'm not going to judge him for that. In fact..." He sits back, staring at Blaine in challenge. "I need it too, so do you think _I'm_ only pretending to be distraught?"

Blaine sighs. "Damn, I knew that would come out wrong. I hate feeling like I don't know what's going on in your life, Kurt. I feel like I'm making all these missteps and I don't know how to stop it, because I don't even know what's off limits."

Kurt melts at that, stretching his arm out again instantly. "Sorry. I'm a little hypersensitive these days, especially about Dave. I guess...it's just him, okay? _He's_ off limits.

Blaine frowns at him, but looks away and slips his fingers through Kurt's.

"Just say it," Kurt says.

"Can you tell me _why?" _Blaine says without looking back at him. "I mean...God, maybe I'm just the most self-centered person in the universe, but my boyfriend tells me that the guy who used to terrify him, the guy who _kissed _him, is living at his house, and he's sending you all these texts and making you laugh like _I_ can't even make you laugh, and I'm not allowed to even talk about him? Maybe it's petty of me to feel just a little bit unsteady about it, or...jealous, even, but I think most people would if they were in my shoes."

Kurt draws in a breath, surprised. "You're _jealous_?"

Blaine chuckles a little, and looks back at Kurt. "Of course that's the thing you focus on. If I'm self-centered at least you are, too."

Kurt can't help but smile. "I'm sorry, it's just...really? That's _adorable_."

Blaine rolls his eyes, but smiles. "I don't have you all to myself anymore, so it's probably natural. At first I was worried about you being in the same house as that...as Dave," he catches himself fast. "I worried about him intimidating you in your own home. But now? He's all you talk about."

Kurt's smile fades slowly. In a way he is kind of thrilled - he hunted Blaine for so long, sometimes it's hard to believe he actually caught him. So it's _really _tough to swallow that Blaine is jealous over him.

But Blaine is right. It's not exactly fair that he doesn't know what's happening, and it's kind of a rotten thing for Kurt to do to the guy he loves. Kurt knows he's justified in being a little obsessed with Dave and his recovery, but Blaine doesn't know that.

He lets out a breath, glancing towards his phone and finding it hard not to picture Dave on the other end of his texts, rolling his eyes at Santana or fending off her come-ons or whatever. Innocently unaware that Kurt is giving some of his secrets away. Kurt can't be fair to Dave and Blaine both, not about this one thing. But at least he can trust Blaine not to hurt Dave with this secret.

Blaine seems to sense his shift in mood. He squeezes Kurt's hand and draws his arm back, quiet, waiting.

Kurt glances over at the distant diner staff - the place is always dead when they come in, too late for lunch and too early for dinner. But he doesn't like even talking about this stuff out loud, much less in public.

He draws in a breath. "You can't talk about this to _any_one, okay? I know you won't, you're not like that, and none of your friends know Dave anyway, but...promise me?"

Blaine nods instantly, concern in his eyes. "I promise."

Kurt waits, but the words don't really come to him. How do people talk about this? He's only said it once, to his dad, and it was blurted out without thinking. His shock only came on afterward.

He looks down at the table, and that helps. He draws in a breath and circles his hands loosely around his water glass, and the cold condensation helps, too, at least in that it's something to focus some part of his brain on.

He starts and stops a couple of times. He wants to go slowly, to tell Blaine more about the attack itself before he gets to the wort part. Build it up, like a story or a song. But that's ridiculous, and Dave's life isn't a song, and he ends up sighing and going back to the exact same words he said to his dad on the phone the day after it happened.

"He didn't just get beat up," he says, and the words hurt grinding their way out of his throat. "They raped him."

It's bizarre to be so scared of a word, isn't it? It's absurd that speaking one word can make his throat ache and his stomach sick. That might be one of the worst words there is, but still. It's a word. Kurt is good with words, he loves words. He knows that some are ugly, but he didn't know before this happened that one could be so...malicious.

He looks up after a moment, realizing that everything is silent.

Blaine looks at him from across the table, and his hand is at his mouth and his eyes are round, his face pale. It's the image of someone faking shock, like the sort of sarcastic reaction Santana might have to some painfully obvious news. But it's not, because Kurt knows Blaine well enough to see the honest astonishment in those wide eyes, and the gracelessness in his hand. It's an unflattering look, and Blaine is usually so aware of himself.

His genuine shock makes it easier for Kurt. He looks back at his water glass and pushes out more words. "He told me later...he said they did it because..."

There isn't a single part of the words 'they wanted to fuck the fag out of him' that Kurt can verbalize.

And God, Kurt wanted Dave and Azimio to make up, because Dave needs his best friend. But how can one punch in the face - however painfully hard - even start to make up for the fact of what Azimio did? How can Dave see anything in Azimio except the person who set everything into motion? The two of them aren't back to what they used to be. Kurt could tell that last night, after the game ended and their focus wasn't divided and they suddenly didn't have anything to say to each other. Azimio left fast after that, but Kurt counted it a victory. Maybe it wasn't as big a step as he thought.

He shivers, and lifts his fingers from the cold glass of water as if it's to blame. Instead of going on with any kind of details about the attack itself, his mind shifts a different direction and he looks up at Blaine, bleak.

"They must have said something about me during...or...after. Coach Sylvester found him on the ground, bleeding and...and naked and all he said...all he did was ask about me. He wanted to make sure it didn't happen to me next."

Kurt feels breathless suddenly, because he knows all these things but until this moment they have all been separate somehow. He knew Dave was hurt, he knew Dave feared he was in danger too. He just hadn't linked those two things together.

Dave asked about Kurt; it was all he could ask about even after _that _had happened to him.

He shudders, drawing in a ragged breath. "They weren't going to come after me, I don't think. They were...they've never cared about someone like me being gay. It had to be because he was one of them, because he was betraying them somehow, or..." He wipes at damp trails down his cheeks without paying any attention. "I wasn't in any danger, but he still...he was hurt so bad, Blaine, and he was worried about _me_. How can I be anything but obsessed about making sure he's okay? Knowing _that_, how can I talk about anything else?"

Blaine shakes his head, and for maybe the first time since Kurt met him he doesn't have a single answer for Kurt's problems.

* * *

><p>There's nowhere to take the conversation after that, really, and Kurt's suddenly feeling guilty about being so far from Lima. So less than an hour later he's headed back home, driving too fast.<p>

By the time he pulls up in front of his house (strange car, is Santana still here?) he's almost panicked. He turns off the engine but freezes, remembering that he shut his phone off at the diner. If Dave has needed him, he didn't get the call.

He turns his phone on, sitting there swallowing down fear and worry, and he could just go inside but he has to _know _first.

There's one missed text, and it's only a few minutes old. From Blaine. _Kurt, please don't take this the wrong way, but...you said your dad was going to get Dave to talk to a therapist? It might be a good idea for you to go, too._

The front door opens as he sits there staring at that message, and he looks up to see Santana and Dave stepping out onto the porch and grinning about something or another.

Fine. Dave is fine. He's pale, and it's more apparent every day that he's losing weight, but he's out in the fading sunlight and he's smiling at Santana, and he isn't curled in a ball somewhere having flashbacks. He doesn't need help. Not right now.

Blaine said something about how maybe Dave doesn't need Kurt as much as Kurt thinks he does. Kurt doesn't know if that's the case - his mind too easily plays back images of Dave in the hospital, or huddled on the floor of his new bedroom with his phone clenched in his hand, or lying there scared to go to sleep, listening to Kurt humming whatever soothing songs he can think of.

Dave needs him. Kurt needs Dave to need him.

But maybe not all the time, not every waking second.

Kurt looks down at his phone and sighs at Blaine's text. He responds finally.

_I think maybe you're right._

Kurt slides his phone back into his pocket and climbs out of the car even as Dave's eyes catch on his Escalade. He approaches Dave and Santana with as casual a smile as he can manage. "You guys going somewhere?"

"Stud's just walking me to my car," Santana says, elbowing Dave. "Being a gentleman."

Dave shrugs. "It's fun to pretend."

There's something in the air between them, though, and Kurt looks from one to the other trying to figure out what. "You guys have been here talking this whole time?"

"If you're looking for your business, none of it's over here." Santana smiles, sharp.

Dave squeezes her arm. "Down, girl."

She glances back at him. It's then that Kurt notices how red her eyes are. How she's barely got any makeup on, which isn't her usual style. She snaps that she isn't his dog and he can't fucking muzzle her, but her voice isn't sharp despite the words.

Kurt looks over at Dave, sees that the bloodshot damp redness is in his eyes, too.

He swallows then, because...right. They have more in common than the Bullywhips now, don't they? They have Jason Campbell in common.

Santana rolls her eyes at whatever Dave's response to her is – Kurt's trapped in his own head long enough to miss it – and she turns to march over to her car. But she hesitates, glancing back at Dave for a moment.

"You should come back to school."

"That's what people keep telling me," Dave answers, non-committal.

She speaks seriously enough that Kurt is surprised by it, even after realizing what they must have been talking about for so long. "The longer you stay away the bigger a thing it becomes. Get it over with now, because it won't get easier."

He frowns. "I hear you, okay? I heard you before. Just..."

"Yeah, well. Whatever." Santana glances at Kurt. "Ask princess over here, he can tell you how many people you've got on your side when you come back. If it makes a difference." She throws an arm around Kurt's shoulder a little too roughly. "And hey, I know historically fags and dykes haven't always been the best of friends. But this is Lima Ohio, and God knows there aren't enough of us that we can be picky about who our friends are."

Kurt grins faintly over at Dave. He doesn't want to push him into anything, but he hopes Dave listens to her, because...

He blinks suddenly.

"Wait." He looks over at Santana.

She's so casual, she spoke so casually, he didn't realize it was a big deal. But...

"Did you just come _out _to me?"

She snorts and nudges him. "If you didn't already know about me your gaydar is a frigging disgrace, Kurt." But her voice is a little tense, a little strained, like pulling off the casual act isn't easy.

Kurt glances at Dave, sees that there's surprise in his eyes as well. Pride, too, maybe.

Holy crap, she just came out. And Dave _knew_. And..

"You're going out with Azimio!" he blurts out, staring back at her.

She sends Dave a pursed look and pulls away from Kurt. "You fairies love your gossip so much, I'll just leave you to it."

Dave grins at her back, which keeps Kurt from worrying about having offended her. Obviously Dave and Santana must have gotten to know each other at least a little bit better than Kurt knows her, so he trusts Dave's smile to let him know it's okay.

She gets into her car, and with the engine cranking comes the shriek of some screaming girl singer and the whine of a guitar, and she peels off and leaves them standing in the yard.

Kurt turns to Dave, amazed. "Wow."

"Yeah." He smiles after her for a second. "She told Z, but I didn't figure she'd be ready for more for a while. It might just be you, though, so..."

"I told you once, I don't believe in outing people. Nobody will hear about it from me." Kurt shakes his head, nudging Dave's arm and heading towards the front door. "So why would she start dating Azimio?"

Dave grins. "They've got a plan."

"Uh huh?"

They move into the house, and Kurt grabs Dave's arm to haul him up the stairs so they can talk in private. There's no one in the living room yet, but that changes fast in this house.

He pushes Dave into his bedroom and shuts the door. "Talk."

Dave moves over to Kurt's desk and sits down, eying the computer and the rest of the understated decorations.

Kurt takes off his jacket and goes to the closet to hang it up. "Well?"

"Well, she's not the only one going out with Z. I guess he's dating Britt now, too."

Kurt turns back to him, frowning.

Dave grins. "It's gonna be a scandal. Fucking jewfro-boy is gonna have boners for days over this shit."

"Ew, but go on."

Dave shrugs, rotating the desk chair back and forth absently. "That's it. The three of them. They're gonna go out for a while, this whole fucking menage-o-three situation. And then Z's gonna dump them both or whatever, and the two girls will only have each other to nurse their broken hearts." He shrugs. "I don't know, I think it's kind of retarded, but Z's into it because it makes him look like a fucking stud. And it's the only way Santana thinks she can ease herself into this whole gay thing. And, seriously? I am in no position to judge how someone else wants to get out of their closet."

Kurt thinks about that. "Wait, so. Brittany's gay too?"

"Nah, she's just Britt."

That makes sense. Kurt laughs to himself, amazed. "Here I was thinking I was all alone for so long, lost in a sea of breeders."

"It's weird, huh?" Dave smirks. "You're gonna have to teach Santana a little about that whole solidarity thing, though."

Kurt holds up his Team Rainbow fist in salute. "Wait, why? If you think coming out is going to make her stop calling us fags and dykes..."

Dave echoes the gesture with a laugh. "Nah, just...first thing she did when she found out about me last year was fucking blackmail me and threaten to tell everybody."

Kurt blinks. His fist drops. "What?"

Dave shrugs. "No big deal, just...girl's gonna get a sense of empathy beaten into her one day if she doesn't find it herself."

"Wait." Kurt's mind is going back. He remembers Figgy's office, talking to Dave one on one with their dads standing by. How when Dave told him the truth he wasn't surprised, because it was Santana. But he _should _have been surprised, because it was Santana-and-Dave and those two never had anything to do with each other before.

"The Bullywhips?"

"Not exactly. Prom, that was the big thing. Faking going out and getting elected at prom. The Bullywhips is just how she worked out we'd get there."

"You didn't tell me that." Kurt folds his arms over his chest and stares at Dave, troubled and not sure why. "In the office. You just said it was her idea, you didn't tell me she was forcing you do it."

Dave smiles faintly. "No, I didn't."

It leaves a fairly obvious question, so Kurt asks it: "Why not?"

"Because, Fancy. Holding hands with Santana in the halls and buying a fucking suit and tie to match her dress, that shit required blackmail. But stepping up and owning my fucking rotten mistakes? Getting you back with your friends and watching out for you? I could have thanked her for that, because she gave me a way to do it without throwing off my whole life all at once." He smiles suddenly, a little wilted. "Guess that means I really can't say shit about her plans to ease herself into being out, because she helped me ease into becoming...human, or whatever. Besides..." He stops suddenly, his face pinking.

Kurt moves to his bed and sits. "Besides?"

"Never mind. It's retarded."

Kurt rests his elbows on his knees and rests his chin in his hands. "Besiiiides..."

Dave rolls his eyes, but draws a breath and fesses up. "I didn't want you to know, okay?"

"Know...that it was blackmail?"

Dave shrugs. He twists the desk chair to face the computer and reaches out, toying with the headphones laying beside the keyboard. "You would've thought that was the whole reason why. You might not have come back if you thought I would just go back to how I was whenever Santana wasn't looking. Right?"

Kurt thinks about that. "I definitely would have thought twice about it." He frowns, studying the profile that's all he can see of Dave now. "Why...I get it, why you didn't want to come out. I even get why you might have wanted to push me around more than other kids, because I _was _out. But why...why did it get so bad? After the locker room?"

Dave swivels his head, gaping at Kurt. "Are you kidding me?"

Kurt blinks. "No." He frowns. "You're trying to tell me you _didn't _get bad?"

Dave rolls his eyes. "Come on, I'm not dumb. I know things went too far a few times. Shit, a couple times I think I lost _time_. I'd blink and suddenly you'd be right there all scared and my fists were in your shirt, and..." He trails off, grimacing. "But...you seriously don't know why?"

It takes Kurt a moment to answer. He almost wants to pause, to think back, to rack his brain for some obvious answer. But he doesn't - he's already wasted a lot of hours trying to come up with that answer. Mostly while he was still in school and flinching at the sight of Dave.

There isn't an answer. Not an easy one, not an obvious one. So he faces Dave stubbornly. "I seriously don't know."

Dave shakes his head, but looks away from him again. His throat works. "Shit. Can we have this talk some other time? Feel like I've already talked myself half-hoarse thanks to Santana."

Kurt wants to push the issue. He's been able to look past it this whole time, their history and all his old issues, but they're still there. Before this thing happened with Dave, before he was hurt, Kurt had just decided to call him by first name. Even that was a revelation back then. He maybe jumped forward a few too many steps, bringing Dave here and leaping right into friendship. He wouldn't change it, he wouldn't do it differently if he could go back now, but...forgetting about those other things doesn't make them go away.

Dave's eyes are still red, though, and he did tell Kurt a few things that he didn't have to. He's told him a lot, really, since they first started talking in the hospital.

So he sighs and lets it go. "Okay, but we _will_ have this talk some other time."

Dave's shoulders relax but his nod is heavy. "I owe you a lot more than a talk. I just...right now..."

"Hey." Kurt has a sudden image of things getting tense and awkward between them, all the progress they've made washing away. "The only thing you owe me for is the fact that I'm going to be forced to eat weird Middle Eastern food tomorrow for lunch. Or...Greek? Are gyros Greek?"

Dave glances over at him, wary.

Kurt grins. "I'm not well-educated on ethnic cuisine, okay? Nobody's perfect."

After a moment Dave returns the smile faintly. "Gyros are Greek," he answers. "But this place is run by these beefy Lebanese guys. You'll like them, they're pimp. And dude, if you ask for _shawarma _instead of calling 'em gyros, they'll practically cry from joy. It's hilarious."

Kurt laughs. "I'll just let you order for me."

"Dangerous, Fancy. I'm actually pretty fucking well-educated on ethnic cuisine."

"Way to defy those stereotypes, David!" Kurt rolls his eyes with a grin and he stands up and moves to his desk. "Get up, I need to check email."

Dave shifts from the chair over to the bed, dropping down hard enough to make the bed creak. "Seriously, dude, you should broaden your horizons. Maybe sometime when there's not some family dinner planned or whatever I'll make something for you."

"Uh huh, sure." Kurt leans in as his hotmail account comes up - he's got to make an evite for next weekend, for a mall day with the girls and gays to invite Blaine to. He could use a mani...

...cure.

He stops.

He sits up. He slowly turns in his chair, eyebrows high. "Wait. Wait a second here."

Dave blinks, staring back. "What?"

"Dave. Are you telling me..." He frowns, squinting at Dave as if trying to see the answer to his own question. "Are you seriously implying that you _cook_?"

Dave gapes at him. "Christ, Fancy, you're so dramatic. Yeah, I can cook."

Kurt can't fight the grin slowly spreading over his face. "You _cook. _In a kitchen, with an apron and a spatula and _cooking_."

Grinning now, Dave rolls his eyes and drops flat on his back, stretching out over Kurt's bed. "You want me to defy stereotypes? I live to please."

"God, like...what do you _make? _I want to write a grocery list and sell tickets in glee and just line people up at the counter to _watch_."

"Nothing you've ever heard of. Except maybe..." Dave tilts his head to look at Kurt. "Nah, you wouldn't be interested."

"In _what?_" Kurt is on his feet and beside the bed in a flash, delighted. "What? What what what?"

Dave laughs, face pink, looking up at Kurt. "I might own a _hangiri._ You know, back at home."

"A what?" Kurt can hardly keep still. He reaches out, poking at Dave's leg. "What? What is it?"

"Jesus, you're pushy when you're excited." Dave folds his arms under his head, grinning from Kurt's pillow. "A _hangiri _is a thing, a rice thing. A bowl, kind of. Cools rice down fast after its cooked."

"Rice? That's your big thing, making _rice?"_

"Shit, Fancy, now _you're _the one defying stereotypes. I figured you'd know this shit. It's for making sushi."

Kurt makes a sound he doesn't even recognize - hell, it's so high-pitched he's surprised he can even hear it. "Oh my god! Dave Karofsky can make _sushi!_"

"I can throw a roll together." Dave shrugs, but the grin on his face belies the casual words. "Stop squeaking, Kurt. It's disturbing. Anyway, most of what I know how to make is Russian. My dad's mom is straight off the boat, you know? And I used to get shunted over to their place a lot. Nothing to do but hang out and watch my grandma cook." Dave's grin slips a little as Kurt stares at him. "Yeah. Anyway. I learned the sushi thing one summer, took a class. Got me out of the house while dad was...anyway."

Kurt's too busy trying not to _leap _to his phone to text someone with this news to take much of that in. "I have absolutely no idea why," he says suddenly, "but that is so _sexy._"

Dave turns beet red in a flash. "What?"

Kurt laughs. "It is! I had no idea! God, I wonder if Blaine cooks." He practically jumps back to the desk to fire off an email to his boyfriend. "You know you _have _to make something. Something awesome. Maybe not sushi, because like one person in this house besides me would eat it, but...something."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Kurt glances back at the bed. He grins to see Dave still pink, now staring up at the ceiling without the huge grin. "I promise I won't actually sell tickets."

Dave looks over. He quirks a smile but sits up suddenly. "Hey, I'm gonna go crash, okay?"

"Fine." Kurt sighs as if put out. He turns back to his computer as he pulls up a blank email to send to Blaine, but as the door creaks open he thinks of something. "Hey! Wait!"

Dave pauses in the door, looking back at him.

Kurt grins over at him. "Russian, huh? Grandma straight off the boat, huh?"

Dave eyes him. "Yep."

"Did she happen to teach you any _words_ to go along with the cooking?"

Dave chuckles and shakes his head. "Forget it, Fancy. I'm sure Hairboy speaks French or something, go fetishize him."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "_I _speak French, it's not hot if _I_ can do it! Come on, just tell me. Just say something."

Dave shakes his head. "Talk to Schuester sometime, he'll tell you how un-sexy my Spanish is."

"Everyone speaks Spanish! I _hablo _frigging _espanol._" Kurt smiles, wide and hopeful. "Russian is different."

"You are so motherfucking weird."

Kurt pouts. "Here I thought you were turning into this big pile of interesting contradictions."

Dave looks out the door as if contemplating escape. "Forget it. I'm happy being a big pile of dull simplicity. Good night, Fancy."

"Are you-"

"I said_,_" Dave fires back a grin, "s_pokojnoj nochi, Vychurnyj._"

"Oh..." Kurt clamps his hand over his mouth to fight another squeak. "I don't even know what that is, but I _want_ one!"

Dave laughs as he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

Beaming to himself, Kurt turns back to the screen. He really does need to tell _some_one about this, but there's a big empty email on his screen and he can't remember what he was about to email Blaine about.

With a grin he closes the blank email and pulls out his phone to call Mercedes instead.


	15. Chapter 15

_Author's Note: ...actually, I've got nothing this time around, except my usual undying sense of gratitude towards all of you. _

* * *

><p>"We're leaving!"<p>

Dave is already out the door, wired and nervous and moving fast. Kurt aims his yell towards the kitchen, where his dad is putting away groceries, and heads after him.

"Hey, Kurt?"

He looks back as his dad comes from the kitchen, carrying a bag of chips. Kurt turns and marches over instantly, but before he can get there his dad rolls his eyes and flashes the front of the bag.

"Baked, kiddo. Low sodium. It's practically a bag full of broccoli."

Kurt frowns at him, but sighs. "Not the whole bag, okay? And what is it? Dave wants to get there and get out before his dad shows up."

"Oh. Nothing big. Just..." His dad studies him. "You and Blaine. You guys doing okay?"

Kurt blinks, surprised. "Yeah, of course."

"Huh. Okay. Just wondering."

Kurt shakes his head, uncertain but a little amused. "Unless you've heard something I haven't, anyway."

"What, a guy can't poke his nose in his son's business suddenly?" His dad grins and tears open the bag of chips. "Get out of here."

"I am. Remember, not the-"

"-whole bag. I got it."

* * *

><p>"Shit."<p>

"What?" Kurt looks ahead as he slows the car down, and sees the answer for himself. "Is that your dad's car?"

"Yeah." Dave stares out the windshield as Kurt slows down even more. "Sometimes he goes to afternoon mass, but usually he's never here at eleven. Shit."

"It's okay." Kurt's barely moving now as they get closer. He keeps an eye on his rearview but the wide street is empty behind them. "We can have lunch early and come back, if you want."

Dave looks out at the house and the car as they get closer. He's pale, tense, but he's been pale and tense since he came downstairs an hour ago and asked Kurt if he was ready to go.

"No." He swallows, but looks over at Kurt and speaks firmly. "Fuck it, let's just do this and get out of here."

Kurt frowns but turns the wheel, sliding up to the curb in front of the house and pulling to a stop. "Are you sure?"

"No." Dave grins, looking ill. "Maybe you should hang out here, though."

"Yeah, maybe not." Kurt unhooks his seatbelt. "Unless you really don't want me to go in, I'm not letting you face that creep alone."

Dave frowns over at him, but slips off his seatbelt and opens the door. "Thanks, Fancy," he mutters as he steps out of the Escalade.

Kurt moves around the car and studies the house. He's been here once before, of course, sitting in his dad's car waiting for him to finish trying to talk sense into Paul Karofsky. It's a nice house, a wide yard and this preppy little cul de sac, bikes in the yards of the neighbors. It's very middle-America.

Kurt follows Dave towards the house, looking around to distract himself from how potentially awful this whole thing might turn out. "Looks like he's letting the grass get a bit long."

Dave snorts softly, but doesn't look over at Kurt. "Cutting the grass is a job for the son, not the dad. Guess he just hasn't figured out how to replace me yet."

Kurt makes a face but schools himself fast. This is no time to express his own dislike for Dave's dad. It's going to be hard enough for Dave just going inside, Kurt doesn't want to add to it.

Dave stops moving suddenly, so abrupt that Kurt smacks into his arm. Kurt follows his gaze and sees the front door opening.

Kurt's met Paul Karofsky a couple of times. His first impression was that he definitely looked like Karofsky's dad. Big, broad-shouldered, corn-fed man in a less-than-stylish suit. But then he listened thoughtfully to everything Kurt said, and he believed him, and he spoke with quiet regret about the ways his son had changed.

Kurt _liked _him. That's maybe the worst part. Kurt walked out of that first meeting actually pitying Paul Karofsky for being saddled with a meathead bully for a son. He walked out of the second meeting wondering why Dave was so scared of outing himself when his dad was so _understanding_ about everything.

Now he feels like he got tricked somehow. Like he fell for some illusion.

It's the same man standing at the door. The same neatly trimmed beard and sad eyes and bulky suit. Paul looks them over, Dave and then Kurt and then his eyes stick back on Dave.

Dave draws in a breath and strides forward all at once. "I'm just here for my stuff," he says, loud, looking down at the grass as he approaches the house.

His dad's eyes stay on him, and Kurt wonders as he follows Dave more slowly what it is that Paul sees. Surely he can tell his son has lost weight. He must see the paleness in his skin, the shadows under his eyes. There aren't any bruises left, no swelling, no redness. But Dave is obviously not moving like an average teenage boy without a care in the world.

When Dave steps up on the porch Paul moves, backing up and leaving the door open without saying a thing. Dave strides through the house without missing a beat, and by the time Kurt crosses the threshold Dave is pounding up a flight of stairs.

Kurt hesitates, looking around at the tasteful and bland living room. It's any boring home in Ohio, really. No pictures, though. Some art on the walls, but no photographs. Not anywhere he can see.

He frowns but moves to go after Dave.

"Kurt."

He stops, turning back.

Paul looks uncertain. "Isn't it? Kurt Hummel?"

"Yeah." Kurt's never been alone with an adult man whom he despises. He isn't sure whether to follow the rules of etiquette, or what. He doesn't want to do anything that will make things worse for Dave, and Kurt is a kid in a world ruled by adults, so there's a limit to what he can do if he even lets himself be less than courteous.

Paul clears his throat, looking towards the staircase. "How's he doing?"

Well then. That makes his decision easier.

Kurt doesn't hide his glare, simply because his face won't allow it to be stifled. He answers Paul the same way he answered Azimio the other night – the way he shouldn't have to answer Paul, because Paul is Dave's _dad _and he should know this without asking.

"You should ask him that yourself."

Paul doesn't say anything else as Kurt turns and marches up the stairs after Dave.

He finds Dave easily enough – only one door is open down the short hallway, and he can hear Dave thumping around before he's even off the stairs.

Dave's bedroom...isn't what Kurt expected, though until he sees it he doesn't realize he actually had any preconceptions. The walls are bare (but Kurt remembers the hockey and football posters now up in Dave's room at Kurt's house). The room is neat, but crammed full of things. A small bookshelf is loaded down with piles of books, comics, magazines. There's a small tv on a stand crowded with an X-box and a small hill of games and DVDs. It's like organized chaos, like a small den away from the bland ordinariness of the rest of the house.

Dave is grabbing at clothes that Kurt's dad left behind, tossing things on the bed in a pile. He's moving fast, graceless and jerky movements that Kurt can interpret easily enough: he's trying to be furious. Really trying. But it isn't anger that has his eyes burning so brightly.

Kurt frowns, at Dave and at the silence behind Kurt from the direction of the stairs. "What can I help with?"

"Nothing," Dave grinds out, hauling a dirty pair of ice skates from the bottom of his closet and dropping them on the bed.

Kurt sighs but moves to the bed, fingering the blades of the skates. "You really stopped playing hockey because of your dad?"

Dave glares out at him from halfway inside the closet, but he relaxes after a moment and turns back to what he's doing. "Yeah."

"You don't like playing football? You're good. I mean, I guess you are. You knock people down and stuff. That's a good thing, right?"

"Every oversized douchebag in the world plays football," Dave says, crouched half in the closet, sounding like he's tossing things around for fun. "I don't suck, but you've got to be fucking _good_ to catch anybody's eye. Hockey...I could've got a scholarship somewhere. The good colleges with hockey programs look hard to find players. Football scouts could give a shit, they got twenty guys for every position."

Kurt is surprised by that, and he isn't sure why. It's kind of a disservice to Dave at this point to be surprised at something like his showing actual forethought about life after high school. Dave has already proven to him a dozen times over that he isn't anything like what Kurt thought he was.

He sits down on the edge of the bed that isn't covered in things, watching Dave's back as he hunts for whatever he's looking for. "Did you tell your dad that?"

"He didn't give a shit." Dave shifts and straightens, looking over at Kurt. "Columbia Law doesn't have a hockey team."

"Well." Kurt meets his eye for the moment before Dave turns back to the closet. "Dad and Carole probably really like hockey. And it's early in the year. I bet you could get back on the team."

Dave stills and turns back at him again, looking honestly startled.

Kurt smiles. "There's a bright side to everything," he says quietly.

Dave considers that. He leans back into the closet, but his tossing gets a little less violent.

Kurt relaxes and looks over the pile growing on the bed. "Do you have something to carry this stuff in?"

A crumpled and faded red McKinley High sports bag launches out of the closet and lands at Kurt's feet.

"Could've just said yes," Kurt mumbles, standing and grabbing the bag. "You want me to just shove things in, or can I treat these like actual garments?"

"They're not your thousand-dollar outfits, Fancy. Shove."

Kurt rolls his eyes but smiles a little as he starts grabbing things and shoving. It's a horrible way to treat innocent shirts, but then Dave has some pretty horrible clothes. "You know, some people in the world actually make it a point to buy clothes that _fit_. It's a lifestyle choice, I know, but I think it's fairly valid."

Dave doesn't answer, but that doesn't exactly surprise Kurt.

"You remember when I called you chubby, and you were utterly _devastated?_" He makes a face at a shapeless hump of flannel, but shoves. "Your clothes do you no favors, that's all I'm saying. You know, you're staying in the same house as a mother and a Kurt Hummel, so...either resign yourself to justifying your clothing every single day, or brace for a few badly needed shopping trips."

"Do you think there's something wrong with me?"

Kurt snorts delicately. "With your style choices, definitely. But..." He glances back and his words trail off.

Dave is sitting on his heels, his back to Kurt. His arms are resting on his legs, maybe holding something or maybe his hands are just clasped. Kurt can't tell.

His shoulders are bent, his head is down.

Kurt swallows whatever idiot joke he was ready to make next. He sets the already full bag on the bed and approaches him uncertainly. "Dave?"

"Really, Kurt. Do you think maybe there's just...something fucking _wrong _with me?"

"Really? No. I don't. You're not perfect, but nobody is." Kurt stops a foot or so behind him, studying his back. "You're trying, Dave. That may not sound like a lot, but it's more than a lot of people do."

Dave draws in a breath that shifts his shoulders. "Parents are supposed to love their kids."

Something about that, the simplicity of the statement, the level flatness in Dave's voice...something about it hits Kurt really _hard. _He winces and looks out at the open doorway and the empty hallway beyond.

The worst thing is that anything Kurt says will be utterly empty. There are no words that can speak louder than the silence from downstairs.

It's seriously not even fair. This whole thing, the dad and the silence and shoving clothes in a gym bag to cart them out...it's enough. It's too much for any kid to be able to handle. It's so fucking unfair that this is only one of the things Dave has to deal with.

Kurt has seriously got to stop thinking that every laugh, every grin, marks some kind of recovery. It doesn't. Kurt pats himself on the back and calls himself a caretaker because he can make Dave fall asleep or distract him with random texts from school when he's home alone. But Kurt can't do anything in the face of Dave's problems. Everything Dave is going through is too damned big for Kurt to solve for him.

He reaches out and lays his hand on Dave's tense shoulder. "I think," he says slowly, "maybe some people are just..." What? Miserable, selfish bastards? Complete wastes of oxygen? Hypocritical assholes? "...selfish," he settles on. "Too selfish to change just because they have a kid. It'd be nice if something like becoming a parent could make people better, but maybe it doesn't. Not all the time."

Dave shakes his head, still staring down at his lap.

"You remember Jennifer Faucher? Freshman year?"

A pause, but Dave's head lifts. "Yeah..."

"You think when she was in the hospital, or her dad was in front of a judge about to get sentenced...you think anybody asked what was so wrong with Jen that her dad threw her down a flight of stairs?"

Dave draws in a breath and sighs it out. "I bet _she _did."

"Probably. Did you?"

"No." Dave relaxes a little bit under Kurt's hand. "I know, okay? It wasn't her fault her dad was an alcoholic shit."

"Not your fault your dad is a narrow-minded, passive-aggressive bastard," Kurt answers easily.

"Maybe not." Dave leans back suddenly and holds out his hand. "But that doesn't mean that there's not something wrong with me, too."

Kurt looks down at his hand, at the unmistakable black and white ceramic object clenched in his tense fingers.

Of all the memories he has of Dave...of _Karofsky..._this is the strongest after the kiss in the locker room. Kurt looks at that frozen image of a bride and groom and he can feel the cold metal of the lockers against his back. He can see the look on Dave's face, the cold, manic, _frightening_ expression in his eyes.

When he told Coach Sylvester and Mr. Schuester that they didn't know what Dave was capable of...when he told his dad and Dave's dad about Dave telling him he would kill him...it wasn't because he was too literal-minded to recognize a figure of speech. Kurt has threatened to kill Finn for leaving dirty socks in the bathroom, he understands that people say those words without meaning them.

But the day at the lockers, the day Dave plucked this wedding cake topper out of Kurt's nerveless fingers...that was the day that Kurt thought to himself, 'he'll kill me if I give him a reason'. And he believed it.

Sometimes those memories come back to him vividly. Sometimes he can still feel a momentary shiver of fear thinking about it.

He reaches out and takes the figurine from Dave's hand. He looks down at it, and up at Dave's face.

Dave is terrified, and his jaw is set, and he knows that Kurt remembers everything. He knows, it's in his eyes that he _knows_, that Kurt has let himself forget these things the last few weeks. That the memory of them changes how Kurt feels about things.

And...it's funny, but he's right. Kurt has let himself forget, but not because of the attack. He let himself forget before then. The first day Dave stood in front of him with a cheap, shiny beret and an uncomfortable look on his face, Kurt let those memories become...well, just memories.

He looks down at Dave and he smiles. Because Dave is right here, and Kurt's memories are playing in his mind full blast, and he still doesn't fear the boy in front of him.

The memories scare him. Dave doesn't.

He slips the figurine into his pocket. He smiles and reaches out, pushes a few wayward strands of hair off of Dave's temple. He wonders if Dave will laugh at him as he bends down and presses his lips to Dave's forehead gently.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with you," he says sincerely when he pulls back, "that a thousand dollars and an afternoon at Macys wouldn't fix."

Dave does laugh, but it's wet and painful and there's nothing mocking in it. Just a dark kind of self-loathing that Kurt wants to snatch away from him the way he snatched that cake topper from Kurt.

* * *

><p>They end up lugging three stuffed bags worth of clothes and books and things down the stairs from Dave's room.<p>

(When Kurt asks Dave why he's got a pile of unused duffel bags and backpacks in the bottom of his closet, he tells Kurt that he used to plan to run away at least once a year, long before his dad ever kicked him out. Kurt decides to let that go.)

They're almost out the door when movement from the wide, open pathway to what looks like a dining room catches Kurt's eye.

He slows his steps, staring at Paul Karofsky in silent threat.

If Dave notices him he doesn't show a sign of it. He's out the door fast, moving across the yard in long steps.

Kurt moves to the door, but Paul is a shadow in the corner of his eye and he can't help himself. He's a kid in an adult's world, and he's one of those people Paul Karofsky thinks of as _Them_. But he can't keep his mouth shut.

He drops the bag he's carrying on the floor and wheels around, glaring at Dave's dad with every ounce of diva attitude his stylishly gay self can pull off.

"You know," he snaps out, "I've got a dad who can't ever get the motor oil entirely clean from his hands, and a stepmother who truly believes that denim is a viable fabric for more than just jeans. I've got a stepbrother who has more girlfriends than brain cells. And they've got me. Me and Dave, a couple of confused queer boys. None of us are perfect." He stares Dave's dad in the eye, his chin raised and his expression hopefully as imperious as he's trying for. "But all you've got is an empty house."

He wants to add, _and I hope you rot in it, you prick, _so badly that he can taste it. But he spins on his heel and grabs the handle of the bag he dropped. He marches to the door.

When Dave's dad says something after him, he pays no attention. He doesn't let himself wonder if it was just the lighting or if Paul's eyes were really that red. Or if it was regret all over his face or just a trick of the shadows.

He doesn't care. It doesn't matter. Paul can say all he wants and regret all he wants, but he let Dave walk out of his house without a word, and that's the only thing that matters.

* * *

><p>"We can just go home if you-"<p>

"I want a god damned gyro, Fancy, shut _up _already."

Kurt sighs, but maybe offering to go home twelve times in the five minute car ride is a bit much. He pulls his keys from the engine and stares out at the small rectangle of a restaurant dubiously.

Dave slams the door when he gets out, but Kurt doesn't blame him much. There's stress and then there's _this_, and a little door-slamming and lashing out is probably healthy.

He follows quickly, reaching Dave as he tugs the door open. A little bell rings overhead, and Kurt tries not to roll his eyes. He walks in and inhales.

His stomach _shrieks_.

Okay. So it smells pretty good. Kurt still can't help but sniff at the dingy floors and the faded posters and things on the walls. A calender with some local little-league team pictured declares it to be AUGUST 2004.

"_David!_"

It's a roar, at least three bellowing voices. Kurt jumps, turning to Dave fast.

Dave grins, and the only place the anger lingers is around his eyes. "Yo."

An olive-skinned man with dark hair and eyebrows that would make Blaine's weep in shame barrels to the end of the counter, hand thrust in front of him. "David my friend! We were talking about you just today! You stop coming here and our profits cut in half!" "

Dave shakes the guys hand, waving at two matching dark-haired and ruddy-skinned men back by a large black-top grill. "Yeah, sorry, shit kinda went down."

"It's okay, you brought a friend!" Suddenly a broad and overly enthusiastic hand is shoved out at Kurt.

Kurt reaches out uncertainly, and can't help a smile when the man scopes him out with the same look he usually gets from his friends' mothers. The 'too thin, must _feed_' look.

"We know David's order, but what can we get for you?" the guy asks, and his accent is a little thick and harsh but he's so _friendly _that Kurt feels guilty for any unkind thought towards this place.

"Um." He glances at Dave. "Can I get a..._sha...warma?_" He feels his way around the unfamiliar word, hoping he's remembering it right.

"_Shawarma!_" It's practically a roar, and Kurt would be scared if he wasn't already starting to laugh. "My friend!" The guy seems overcome, and he ducks back to talk to the other two guys at the grill.

Dave laughs, nudging Kurt's arm and heading back to a small table near the dingy window. "These fucking guys."

"I see." Kurt slides into the seat, grateful that at least nothing is sticky. He grabs the little plastic table-topper thing, pointing it towards Dave with a raised eyebrow. "Maybe they shouldn't call this place The Gyro Hut if they don't want people calling them gyros."

Dave shrugs. "It's Lima, nobody here knows what a fucking _shawarma _is."

"True." Kurt sits back, but movement catches his eye. He looks up as someone else comes out from around the counter.

And...oh. Well.

"Hellooo," he catches himself saying under his breath. Which, wow, he's usually not that tacky, but...

Damn.

This is a young guy, maybe early twenties. Same olive skin and dark hair as the bellowing cooks, but there the similarity ends. He's slender and tall, his black hair is thick, wavy enough that it might even curl when it gets longer. He's got a full mouth that could give even Santana's admittedly-sexy pout a run for its money. But the best part is his eyes. He's dark haired, dark skinned, but his eyes are a clear, light and milky shade of brown. Stunning set against his skintone, and...

Wow. Kurt for all his raging gayness isn't often knocked flat by a strange guy.

Dave slides out of his seat to meet the guy, and they grin and shake hands casually.

"I thought I heard your name," the guy says in a fainter but still obvious version of the accent that was bellowing at Kurt a moment ago.

"Really? And your dad was kinda being subtle this time," Dave says, grinning.

Kurt's eyes go from Mystery Man to the two of them together, and his eyebrows slip up.

Maybe he's looking for gay where gay doesn't exist, but...their hands stay clasped a minute longer than casual, and he can't help but see the way this newcomer aims himself at Dave. Even as Dave glances back at Kurt, the guy stays lined in Dave's direction.

"-friend from school," Dave is saying when Kurt tunes back in.

Kurt remembers his manners and stands up, crossing over to them. "Hi."

The guy sticks his hand out, and Kurt shakes, and holy _hell, _he's pretty. "Any friend of Dave's is welcome," the guy says with an easy smile.

Kurt grins a little too broadly before he catches himself. "Thanks. Um...I didn't catch your name?"

"Samir," the guy answers before turning back to Dave. "You came in too late, I was just finishing up in the office."

"Shit," Dave says with a grin. "It's cool, you know me. I'll be around."

"Good." The guy, Samir, smiles at Dave a little too warmly, and barely nods at Kurt. "It was nice to meet you, Kirk. See you, Dave."

Kurt tries not to enjoy watching him walk away, but hell. He doesn't even mind being called Kirk. He'll totally be a Kirk for that man.

Dave moves back to the table. "You should come back sometime when Sam can hang out. He's a pretty cool guy."

"Cool?" Kurt slips back to his chair. "If by 'cool' you mean 'utterly _beautiful' _then yeah, he's a cool guy. And if by 'cool' you mean anything _else, _I'm taking away your gay badge."

Dave rolls his eyes. "I guess he's kinda..." He shrugs, looking around reflexively. His cheeks are coloring in rapidly.

Kurt beams at that. "You _like _him!" For some reason his stomach seems to clench a little – maybe he's just not used to having this conversation with anyone but Blaine. Or various girls.

"Dude. I don't. He's a good guy, that's all."

"Are you serious?" Kurt gapes at him. "If you don't like him, can I? Jesus, Dave, how do you _not_?"

Dave shrugs, reaching out and toying with the plastic table stand. "Honestly? I don't...you know, notice that kind of shit a lot."

"How can you not _notice..._" Kurt wants to go back to whatever office they mentioned and haul Samir back out as Exhibit A. But he hesitates, his focus catching on Dave. "Really?"

His shoulders lift and fall in another heavy shrug. "Maybe I do, I don't know. I don't pay it any attention, though. No point in thinking about that kind of shit."

Kurt frowns. "Because you're in the closet?"

Dave laughs. "Well, that's why I'd never _do _anything if I did notice. But no, it's more like...I don't figure there's much point in it. Liking a dude, or whatever."

The place is empty aside from them and the employees, and the three men back at the stove are talking loudly in rapid-fire Arabic or whatever, obviously paying them no mind.

Still, Kurt lowers his voice a little, leaning in. "You realize that the 'liking a dude' part is what makes the drama of being gay worth it, right?"

"Maybe for you, Fancy. Maybe Hairboy is worth it, I dunno."

Kurt sits back, frowning. "I'm confused."

Dave shrugs. "Come on, Kurt. Gay guys...they're like you, you know? All pretty and girly and whatever. Nice clothes and attitude and shit. And the guys they like...they're like fucking Eyebrows, right? All charming and smarmy and shit." He sets the plastic table stand down, sitting back. "I figured out real fast that if I'm really queer it's gonna fucking _suck_. And not because of all the bullshit, but because guys like me don't fit in that world."

"That's...really narrow of you, David," Kurt manages after a minute, though his mind is disturbingly caught on wondering whether Dave really thinks he's pretty.

"Really?" Dave grins. "Maybe. I don't know a hell of a lot about it." He glances towards the counter, but goes on after a moment. "You might think I'm a dumbass, but part of the reason I really didn't want to be this way is...'cause of that. All I had for reference was Grace Street in Chicago, or you and Eyebrows, or whatever random shit I'd see on tv or movies or whatever. I thought for a long time that 'gay' meant, you know, liking dudes. But it _also_ meant being some bitchy, prissy guy in nice clothes, giving fashion tips to whatever chick the fucking movie was about. Swishy, you know?"

Kurt thinks about that – it's narrow, of course it is. But as people keep pointing out, this is Lima, and Dave's home life probably didn't expose him to a lot.

Dave flushes a little. "I know I'm...whatever. This fucking idiot jock. I know I don't dress all that great, and I like hockey and football, and I think if it's timed right there is _nothing _more fucking funny than a fart."

Kurt rolls his eyes, but smiles.

"I was seriously fucking worried about it. I may not be all that great, but I like who I am. I mean, I hate some of it, yeah, but hockey and X-box and comics and all that shit...that part I like. I thought if I was really like those guys on TV than all this shit I like must be a lie, and I'd lose it." He smiles at Kurt a little sheepishly. "You think I'm a dumbass. Fine, whatever. But every gay guy I ever saw was one way, and I'm another. And I've figured out that I can be queer and still be like I am, but I've also figured that if I am I'll probably end up being alone."

"Okay." Kurt shakes his head, done with listening to this particular line of thought. "You're not a dumbass, you're a vastly overcomplicated physics nerd who _cooks_."

Dave smiles faintly.

"But that doesn't mean you're right. I mean, there _is_ something that all gay guys have in common, and without that you're going to be lonely and miserable."

"What's that?"

"They like dudes."

Dave rolls his eyes.

Kurt smiles. "Seriously, Dave. That's it. We need to broaden your frame of reference, obviously, but for now you can take my word for it."

"It's okay." Dave grins and leans back in his chair. "I'm actually pretty okay with it. I mean, maybe you're right and there's a billion guys like me out there, queer as a rainbow and glued to the Super Bowl. But I'm not really all that worried about it. I mean, shit. I lived the first almost-eighteen years of my life on my own, I can handle whatever's left by myself."

Kurt scoffs, but falls silent as the man behind the counter comes around the end and heads towards them with a couple of huge plates of food.

It smells divine, meaty and spicy, and it looks like a big pile of unidentifiable mystery meat shavings poured over a pita, but Kurt only pays a moment's attention to the food before his eyes are on Dave again.

He's getting better about the gay thing. He's said the words, he's talked to Kurt about it freely. But he's never looked so comfortable about being gay as he did just now, telling Kurt with complete confidence that being gay means he's going to be alone.

Like he prefers that idea to the alternative.

Kurt is pretty sure that means something, and he's pretty sure that whatever it means isn't good.

* * *

><p>When Kurt opens the door to the bathroom after his lengthy evening ritual, he sees Dave waiting outside the door.<p>

"_David_!" he all but yells spontaneously, trying on and probably failing at a Middle Eastern accent.

Dave laughs. "_Shawarma!" _he all but shouts back, and luckily no one in the house is asleep yet.

Kurt echoes the laughter as they pass each other by. Dave takes over the bathroom and Kurt heads towards his bedroom and he wonders suddenly if that might get to be, like, a _thing. _Like one of those massively annoying inside jokes two people have sometimes that makes everyone else think they're psycho.

The idea makes him grin and feel a little warm and loopy in his gut, and he's still grinning when he turns out the light and crawls into bed.

* * *

><p>When he wakes up its to a solid muffled <em>thump <em>that makes his eyes jerk open.

Everything's dark, and he's disconnected in that gray fog that waking up sometimes leaves behind. But he realizes that the thump came from across the hall, and he fights off the gray and pushes to his feet.

The door to his dad and Carole's room is open a little, and he blinks hazily over. "I got it," he whispers.

Carole smiles uncertainly, but shuts the door.

He moves to Dave's door and knocks quietly, pushing the door open when there's no answer. "Dave? Are you-"

He's on the floor beside the bed, blankets tangled up around him. He's curled up in the middle of the tangle, and he's sobbing. Low, hoarse, painful sounding sobs.

Kurt is there in a flash, hardly thinking. On the floor, on his knees, reaching out. Dave reaches out to intercept his hand, but instead of batting him away he grasps, tight, and holds on to Kurt's arm like he's drowning and Kurt is the only buoy in sight.

Kurt shifts to sit right where he is, in that pile of blankets. Dave is clenching his arm hard enough to hurt but he doesn't pull away or speak up.

He reaches out his unclenched hand and strokes the hair from Dave's face. He hears himself murmuring, shushing, but it must be some kind of instinctive thing because he can't even focus enough to tell what he's saying.

Dave curls in tighter, burying his face against Kurt's arm. It's not pretty crying, it's not the Hollywood chin wobble and single tear. It's red-faced and messy and utterly wrenching.

Kurt shuts his eyes and slips in between Dave and the bed, so Dave can keep clenching his arm but Kurt can come between him and the hard floor. Dave sags against his lap, and only when he can turn his head and sob into Kurt's pajama-covered thigh does he let his convulsive grip on Kurt's arm relax.

"I thought..." Dave chokes on his own words, and there's something tight and thready in his voice that makes Kurt's eyes squeeze even tighter shut, as if he can block it out. "I thought they were just fucking around," he gasps into Kurt's leg.

Kurt shakes his head. He doesn't want to hear this. He doesn't need to know what Dave was dreaming about, or thinking of, or flashing back to. He just has to be here, that's all.

But he doesn't speak, and Dave isn't looking at him to see his frantic head-shake.

"Even...w-when I knew it was serious," and the little stammer nearly makes Kurt fucking _weep_, right then and there. "I didn't think..."

"I know," Kurt manages. He pries his eyes open and looks down at the dark head of hair in his lap. He reaches out, strokes his fingers through that hair gently.

"I didn't think," Dave says again before another sob shakes him and steals his voice. "God, Kurt. It _hurt. _It h-hurt so fucking much."

This is worse. Worse than it was before.

Worse, Kurt realizes in dismay as strokes Dave's hair in a desperate attempt to be soothing, because he knows more than he did. He knows physics, and cooking, and he's seen Dave grin and heard him laugh, and even at the start when he saw Dave on the floor, bleeding and naked, it wasn't this bad. He didn't have grins back then. He didn't have _shawarma _or the Team Rainbow fist or anything of Dave except a couple of nervous emails and a single shy smile.

Kurt was horrified at the beginning because this unthinkable thing happened to a person he knew, the newly-christened Dave with the awkward emails.

But that Dave is now _his _Dave, and Kurt doesn't quite sob along with him but fighting it back is so hard he feels like he's going to erupt from the inside. He sits there and runs his fingers through Dave's hair and feels the tears soaking through his pajamas, and it isn't enough. He _wants_ to erupt.

"I begged them," Dave says after a few minutes, hoarse and hollow-sounding. "I fucking _begged. _I just wanted it to stop."

Kurt nods, useless because Dave is still hiding his eyes. But he doesn't trust himself to speak.

"They don't stop," Dave says, softer, gripping Kurt like he never wants to let go. "Every night, it just happens again. I just...Jesus, Kurt, I just want it to stop. _Please_."

"I'm sorry."

It's all he can say. It's all he can force out. He can't tell Dave 'it's okay' or 'I know' or something like that, because it's clearly not fucking okay, and Kurt has no idea. All he can say is that he's sorry. And it's utterly useless, it's ridiculous how little help he and his apologies are.

But it's all he's got.

* * *

><p>tbc<p> 


	16. Chapter 16

"Do we need to have an intervention?"

Kurt looks up from his phone as Mercedes sets her lunch tray down across from him a little too hard. "_Excusez-moi_?"

She sits, staring daggers at him. "I talked to Blaine Anderson more this weekend than I have in the last year combined. We did nothing but talk about you. I talked to _you _exactly once this weekend. You did nothing but talk about David Karofsky."

Kurt wants to feel surprised, but he glances down at the phone, at the message he's been writing and re-writing and fretting over all morning. He looks at his pathetic _Hey, Dave, just wanted to make sure, _and he isn't surprised at all. (He can't finish the message because he keeps changing his mind about whether or not to go ahead and mention last night and the nightmares and the sobbing or just leave it implied that that's why he's so worried.)

Mercedes knows him too well. He has no doubt she can read the guilt in his eyes.

"Look," she says after a moment, leaning in and lowering her voice over the pitch of the crowd of kids settling in for lunch around them. "I know this is a strange situation. I don't know exactly what's going on with you – which we'll deal with next, because I do _not _appreciate being left out of things – but I do know that when _your_ boyfriend is calling_ me_ begging for news, there's something wrong."

"I talked to Blaine this weekend," Kurt argues weakly. "I even saw him on Saturday."

"And you talked about Karofsky the whole time!" She scowls at him, but hesitates. "That's what he said, anyway. Did you?"

Kurt doesn't bother lying. "Pretty much."

She lets her scowl reappear.

Kurt sighs. "Look, there's...this is bigger than..." He frowns, because how does he even begin to explain this whole thing? "You've heard about what happened. The whole school has."

Mercedes picks up a fry from her tray with a shrug. "I enjoy gossip, I don't necessarily _believe _gossip."

"Well. Some of it's true." Kurt shrugs, glancing over as Rachel and Finn sit down at the other end of the table. Across from each other, and Finn's grinning that spineless goofy grin that means they're together today.

He lowers his voice when he turns back to Mercedes. "Maybe you should come over."

"To your place?" Mercedes studies him. "Or to visit Karofsky? Because I don't know if I could put into words how messed up a suggestion that is."

"Why is it messed up?"

"Because I don't know Karofsky! And the things I do know I completely despise!" She bites off the end of a french fry and points the rest at him as she chews. "Something bad happened to him. That doesn't make him a different person, okay? Even if he's suddenly gay now like everyone's saying. Even if his dad disowned him and Azimio Adams put him in the hospital or what_ever_ actually happened, none of that changes the fact that he's a bad person. Someone suddenly being sympathetic doesn't make them suddenly _good._"

"I never said it did." Kurt frowns, deleting his incomplete message from his phone a little jerkily. "He isn't good now because of what happened, okay? He's good now because he's _good _now."

She shakes her head, but Tina comes over and slides in beside her and she contents herself to level a we'll-talk-about-this-later-white-boy glare on Kurt.

It's like Blaine all over again. Kurt is expecting Mercedes to accept things that have happened when she has no actual idea what's happened. It's not fair to her like it wasn't fair to Blaine, but...she isn't Kurt's remote and sympathetic boyfriend. She's not as safe a source to repeat Dave's secrets to.

Maybe it was random to say she ought to come to the house, but...he can't think of any better way to let her see for herself who Dave is now. He can't tell her the kind of things he told Blaine, and he hasn't even told Blaine a quarter of what's gone on with Dave.

He's keeping sweet Dave the physics geek to himself, and for Dave's sake he wishes he didn't have to.

Though, yeah, he did call up Mercedes on Saturday night and blather on about Russian and cooking. He'd been practically _giddy _about the whole thing, and in hindsight maybe she didn't contribute much to the conversation. Practically nothing, as a matter of fact, after she realized who it was Kurt was talking about.

Which actually just makes him feel really stupid about calling her in the first place, and doesn't it suck to realize that?

His phone buzzes.

Kurt looks down, ignoring whatever Tina and Mercedes are talking about across from him. He sees Dave's name on the phone and some of the tension he's carried around all morning leaks away just like that.

_I was so pissed at my dad I forgot that I was supposed to get my truck from the house so you wouldnt have to drive me around anywhere._

Kurt smiles sadly at the text. _Where do you need to go? I don't mind taking you._

_At some point obviously I need to get my fucking truck. Today, though...I guess your dad went ahead and booked me an hour with this fucking therapist lady._

Kurt's smile becomes more genuine and he answers a little too enthusiastically. _Of course I'll take you to that. You shouldn't go alone your first time anyway._

He sends the message and grins, glad that he can help now in some real way after last night's impotent hugs and whispers.

He can't help but notice that Mercedes is watching him from across the table. He makes a face at her, tossing a fry from his ignored lunch tray at her. "Stop glaring at me. Honestly."

She makes a face right back at him, but throws the fry back and turns back to Tina.

He relaxes a little at that – Mercedes may not understand things right now, but even if she's mad at Kurt on Blaine's behalf, at the end of the day she's still Kurt's best friend.

His phone buzzes.

_Thanks, Fancy. Its gonna suck, just keep that in mind. _

_Maybe. If it's really horrible we can make a shawarma run afterwards. And yes, I'm offering to eat Mystery Meat twice in two days for you. Feel honored. _

_Haha. Shawarma! Thats cool, we could do that. Dont lie though, you just wanna check out Samir again._

Kurt ignores Mercedes' repeated glances over as he laughs at the phone. _It is not my fault I've got gay hormones, David. It's genetics. I was born this way, baby._

_Shit, I just flashed back to sitting through your little glee club version of that fucking song. Im not gonna have to like Gaga cause Im queer, am I?_

_You saw that? Stalker. And no, liking Mama doesn't make you gay. It just makes you a person of discerning tastes. _

_Shut up, my beard dragged me. Im proud of my complete lack of discerning taste. And its too fucking quiet in this house, Fancy. Distract me. Say something funny. _

Kurt rolls his eyes, hunching over his phone as Mike practically vaults onto the seat beside him so he can make googoo eyes at Tina over the table.

_I'm not funny on demand, David. I am no one's performing monkey. _

_No one but Schuester. Heh. Fine, just...tell me something. How are classes or whatever?_

Kurt smiles to himself, warming instantly. _Annoying, _he answers. _I think the teachers can't decide if we're practically adults or just overgrown ten year olds. My first class I had to sit through a lecture about the possible economic ramifications of a flat tax, like I'm fifty. _

_Haha, Brattons class? He loves to preach republican bullshit in the form of lessons._

_Of course Bratton. And then last period we were assigned an essay to write about which of our five senses is the most important and why. If that's not third-grade I don't know what is. _

_Fucking Albright. I told you, Fancy, shes a hack. She should go home to her hoard of fucking cats and leave our creative writing skills alone. _

Kurt snickers, and shoves Mike's shoulder, hard, when he creeps in trying to find out who Kurt's talking to. "Back up, tiny dancer."

Mike grins. "That your _boy_friend, Kurt?"

"Leave him alone," Tina barks to her boyfriend. "You never text _me _at lunch."

Mike blinks. "I'm right here."

She stares at him.

Kurt grins, leaving them to their drama.

Dave sent another text during the pause: _Heres what you do, Fancy. Write an essay about the dangerous misleading lessons were taught about our own bodies as kids, and how the myth about only having five senses has stunted many a curious mind._

Kurt laughs – quietly, no use getting people's attention back on him – and pecks out his answer.

_You want me to blow her possibly unstable cat-hoarder mind? Besides, I'm not writing an essay about the sixth sense. I don't believe in psychics. _

_Not talking about psychics, Fancy. I'm science-nerding at you. Nobody knows how many senses people have because there's no set definition about what constitutes a 'sense'. But most scientists estimate at least one or two dozen._

_God, you're hot when you're being smart. I wish I knew how much of your science talk is complete BS, though._

_Shut up, Im hot all the time. Just takes a rare person to see it. So rare that Ive never actually met any of those people. And I never bullshit about science. You want me to introduce you to one of the senses you dont even know you have?_

Kurt grins at his phone, at the wall of text bubbles Dave tends to leave in his wake. Who would have thought that Dave Karofsky was a substantial texter? Most of Kurt's friends, even the fantastic and charismatic ones, tend to text in one line answers and save the substance for their Facebooks.

He tries – and mostly fails – to ignore that this particular text and Dave's offer to introduce him to his senses makes him blush a little bit.

Kurt enjoys flirting as an idea, but in practice it's this ephemeral thing that he's never quite sure about. He's comfortable enough with Blaine that when their conversations hit the _flirting _level he's usually aware of it and happy to be there.

But with other people the idea is less concrete. He's pretty sure, for instance, that Dave isn't actually flirting. Of all the things Dave is awkward about, being gay seems to be top of the list. And he and Kurt...they've developed what could be called a _complicated_ friendship, but complicated because of the facts of it, not because there's any kind of, like...sexual tension or anything.

The idea is enough to make Kurt chuckle to himself, though his cheeks are still warm. Blaine and his admission of jealousy aside, Kurt thinks it's amazing enough that he likes Dave as a friend, and that Dave likes him back. That's enough of a wonder, there's no value in adding innuendo and implication to it.

He finally answers Dave's text with his own brief answer.

_Sure, Coach Dave. Teach me things._

He sends the text and his face is so hot that he knows he must be bright pink, but he keeps his head ducked down in case Mercedes is watching him.

A moment later Gaga is singing in his lap about being Speechless. Kurt answers his phone fast. "You're lucky I'm at lunch."

"_There are clocks here, you know,"_ Dave says in his ear._ "I may be avoiding McKinley like fat kids avoid treadmills, but I still remember what time lunch period is."_

Kurt laughs. "So, what? You got bored with texting?"

"_Hey, you told me to teach you. This is me teaching. Shut your eyes." _

Kurt looks up, catching Mercedes' eye and unable to miss the crowded table around him. "What?"

"_Just do it, Fancy. You're surrounded by Glee dweebs, no one's gonna pants you."_

He huffs an annoyed breath, but shuts his eyes. "Fine. Now what?"

"_Now give the lunchroom your best solidarity fist." _

Kurt laughs, but raises his arm with his fist clenched. "Team Rainbow is in the house, McKinley."

"_Fucking dork," _Dave laughs in his ear, soft and rough.

Kurt grins and shivers a little, probably thanks to being in the middle of the lunchroom with his eyes closed and his fist in the air.

"Now what? Hurry up, this is awkward. And if you and Azimio planned this and I'm about to get a slushee down my back, I'm going to show you just how shrill I can get."

"_Haven't talked to Z since he came by Friday," _Dave admits, his voice a little softer. But he recovers fast. _"Okay, point your index finger up. Keep your eyes closed." _

"God, it's a good thing I have no cool points to lose." Kurt obeys. "And?"

"_Touch your nose." _

"You are seriously just messing with me here."

"_Do it, Hummel!"_

Kurt laughs and keeps his eyes squeezed shut. His fingertip lands on his nose and he makes a face. "Okay, now what?"

"_Actually, that's it." _

"That's..." Kurt's eyes open as he laughs.

Mercedes is starting at him, her eyebrows somewhere in her hairline.

Tina is staring at him.

A quick glance shows him that his entire Glee-crammed lunch table has fallen silent, and they're all watching him with various amused expressions.

"Oh god, I'm an outcast in my own loser club," Kurt murmurs, dropping his arm and resisting the urge to thump his head against the table.

"_Proprioception." _

Kurt stops bemoaning his fate long enough to focus on the voice in his ear. "What?"

"_That's what it's called." _Dave sounds like he's fighting back laughter. _"The sense you just used. The way you knew which finger to point and how to get it to your nose without looking. It's one of the senses everyone has that isn't in your little grade-school list with touch and taste and that bullshit." _

Kurt relaxes, smiling at that. "Huh. What is it?"

"_Technically, it's the term for, like, your body's own awareness of itself, at least in _relation_ to itself. It's also Latin for 'an exercise in public humiliation in a school lunchroom'." _

"Shut up." Kurt laughs, but looks over at the few of his friends who are still watching or smirking his way, and he rolls his eyes at them. "Wow, that's pretty cool, actually. Say it again, the word."

Dave clears his throat, and practically murmurs the word in his ear. _"Proprioception."_

Okay, Kurt definitely shivers at that, but since he knows that's what Dave's going for he doesn't bother feeling awkward. He grins into the phone. "You sexy bitch."

"_Shut up, Fancy." _Dave laughs. _"Gonna make Samir jealous. You know he's _so _into me, right?" _

"Yeah," Kurt says instantly. "I noticed that." And when Dave chokes in his ear he laughs. Instead of dealing with the stares of the people around him, he stands up and holds the phone to his ear as he sweeps up his bookbag and grabs his still-full tray to dump out.

He's suddenly in too good a mood to deal with Mercedes' glares or anyone else's questions.

* * *

><p>There must be some kind of safety in a telephone. Something about texting and calling that puts enough distance between two people that it's easy for Dave to smile and laugh and joke around with him.<p>

Kurt becomes aware of that idea when he gets home from school and the Dave that growled out sexy science in his ear at school is definitely not the Dave that's there waiting for him.

He's tense, and it shows. He barely looks at Kurt, and he's so far away from a smile and a laugh that Kurt would believe it if he said some stranger has his phone and has been making calls on his behalf.

But whatever it is that changed in Dave in the hours between lunch and Kurt's arrival home, the same thing seems to have happened in Kurt. Somehow when he knocks on Dave's door to tell him he's home, he can't even bring himself to smile when the door opens.

"When do you want to leave?" he asks simply.

"Soon," Dave answers quietly. "Gotta be there at six, and I don't know where this place even is."

Kurt shrugs. "I've got GPS." It feels awkward, so Kurt flashes a nervous smile and backs away from his door. "I'll knock when I'm ready."

Dave shuts his door without answering.

Kurt sighs and goes to his room, tossing his bookbag by the door and going to the closet to hang his coat up.

If he can distract Dave during the day with texts and embarrassing himself in public...that's a good thing. He's glad about it, he likes doing it. Actually it makes him feel a little more proud than it probably should. He just wishes it carried over. He wishes it had any kind of real affect once the phone is hung up.

He sits down at his computer, but ends up sitting there watching his own vague and distorted reflection in the black screen for a few minutes before he stands up and goes to dig his phone out of his bookbag.

He sends a text, and tries not to feel absurd about it.

_Are you okay? _

There's a long pause. Kurt fiddles with his phone, and he usually loves constant distractions from all sides but he's strangely content to sit there and wait.

_I dont want to do this, _comes the answer finally.

Kurt traces his finger over the words, sighing. _I know. But I want you to get better._

_If I thought this shit would help itd be different._

Kurt closes that message and stands up, moving to his door and out, across the hall. He pushes Dave's door open without knocking, and doesn't even falter when he sees Dave sitting hunched on the bed holding his phone in both hands.

Kurt approaches and sits beside him. "You trust science, don't you? This is...it's medicine, it's science. It's nothing as concrete as a physics theory, maybe, but it works for people."

Dave shuts his phone slowly and draws in a breath, letting it out slowly. "Sometimes it works," he says quietly. "Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes this kind of shit takes fucking years, right? It's so stupid..."

Kurt frowns. He reaches over, laying his hand lightly against Dave's back. "What's stupid?"

"The whole thing..." Dave laughs, ragged. "What went down at school took like ten minutes, probably. I don't know, my perception of it got pretty fucked up. But it couldn't have lasted all that long, no matter how it _felt._ It feels so _stupid _that ten fucking minutes is gonna need hours with some fucking shrink to deal with."

"Okay, let's get something clear here." Kurt sits back, studying Dave's bowed profile grimly. "I'm glad that you know this isn't some kind of instant fix, that you won't walk out of there after an hour and be totally back to normal. But...you said something once about how talking to a therapist will make you feel like you can't handle things yourself? Let me make it completely crystal clear to you: you can handle yourself. You _are _handling yourself."

Dave looks over, a dark doubt in his eyes.

"Okay, you're not sleeping. You're having nightmares. You're probably a little bit completely depressed, and you don't want to go to school yet. But you're also up on your feet, having dinner with my cornball family, sending me profane text messages and making me embarrass myself at lunch. You're able to smile and laugh, you're getting out of bed every morning and trying to make things better for yourself."

Kurt meets Dave's bright hazel eyes, intent and as sincere as he's ever been about anything before. "You are so fucking strong I can't even believe it sometimes. Okay? This doesn't change anything. If you never go to talk to anyone, eventually I think you'd manage to fix things. This...going to this doctor, it will speed up the process, that's all."

Dave frowns, looking down at his phone again as if still counting on Kurt to text him an answer.

Kurt reaches out without thinking. He lays his fingers against Dave's chin and tilts his head back to face Kurt. "Listen to me. I _know _you're going to be okay. I have no doubt about you. You'd be fine on your own, but you deserve _more_ than that. You deserve to be able to sleep. If talking things out with some PhD is going to help you get ahead of things faster than you can on your own, than that's what you're going to do. Not because you can't do it alone, but because you _shouldn't._"

The doubt, the darkness, seems to fade back from Dave's eyes as he searches Kurt's face. He seems to be looking for something, maybe a shred of doubt or the hint of a lie.

Kurt stays quiet, letting him look his fill, because he knows that there's no lies or doubts for Dave to find.

Dave lets out a puff of air, almost a laugh. "Shit, Kurt." He blinks too-bright eyes, but smiles. "If you wanna think I'm some kind of stud handling things on my own, I'm all for it. But I'm not dumb. I know...I think I'd be...shit. I'd be so fucked up right now if it wasn't for you."

Kurt smiles uncertainly. "I can't do anything to help you. Not anything real."

Dave shakes his head. "You've got no fucking clue how much you help." He hesitates, looking over at a small dresser by the wall. "I can't even tell you without you maybe freaking out a little bit, but I wish I could. You should know. All the shit we've been through, all the stuff _you _went through because of me, it's seriously fucked up how much I need..." He lets out a breath.

"You can tell me," Kurt says after a moment.

It's not a selfless offer. He's frustrated with himself day after day, after something happens that he can't heal. After last night, after Dave was sobbing hard enough to hurt himself and Kurt could do nothing but tell him he was sorry...

Kurt likes fixing things. He likes making things better. He even focuses on decor and style and beauty in some deep-set obsession with prettying the world around him. He isn't good at being useless, even if the ways he can help are small and superficial.

He figures he does help Dave in some small way. Being there for Dave the night before was a world better than Dave on the floor sobbing all alone. But in the face of what Dave's going through, small gestures aren't enough.

Dave seems to believe what he's saying, though. That Kurt helps, that he helps a lot. If he does...Kurt wants to know about it. He wants to know how, so that he's sure he keeps doing it.

Dave stands up suddenly, moving over to that dresser he was looking at. "You...fuck, I can't believe I'm going to..." He slides open the top drawer and just stares in for a moment. "Promise me you won't freak out."

Kurt sits back, and he grips the edge of the bed on either side of him, just in case. "I promise."

"Remember how I told you...shit. Um. At the hospital, I told you about when things got bad with my dad, and my getting expelled and everything..."

Kurt frowns and thinks back, but it only takes him a moment to land on the thing Dave must be working up to. He doesn't remember the exact words, just the part where Dave laughed and called himself a pussy for never even opening the pill bottle.

Kurt's hands grip a little tighter. He clears his throat. "Yeah," he cues finally. "I remember."

Dave reaches into the drawer and pulls out a small orange pill bottle. "Your dad brought 'em with my stuff," he says, tossing the bottle back towards the bed.

Kurt un-pries his hand from the mattress and catches the bottle easily. He can hardly breathe looking at it, at the faded label with _David Karofsky_ on it, and an expiration date from 2008.

He stares at the bottle.

"He must've found it in my closet and didn't notice the date." Dave turns away from the drawer.

When Kurt manages to look up, his eyes focus on Dave's hand. There's a second pill bottle.

Dave holds it out like evidence. "They gave me these before I left the hospital. This is what that doctor told me to take for the pain, and to help me sleep."

Kurt has no doubt the bottle is still full. He looks at it, and at the one in his own hand. He looks back up at Dave.

Dave shrugs awkwardly and sets the second bottle on top of the dresser. He stands there, looking at it, and Kurt can only see his profile as he speaks.

"I made a deal with myself," Dave says softly. "I mean, after what happened, and the shit with my dad, and Z, and the nightmares...I made a deal. I said...there's gonna be a day, probably soon, when there isn't a single fucking good moment. One day where nothing good happens, where there isn't a fucking thing except the nightmares and this...this way I can't even...fuck, I take a shower and I've got to pretend I'm someone else because if I think about it being my own body I'm touching it makes me want to puke. And my dad doesn't want me around, and none of my friends give an actual shit about me, and..." He draws in a breath.

Kurt slips the pill bottle in his hand into his pocket. He can't take his eyes off Dave.

"Anyway," Dave says after a moment. "I figured one day those bad things would be all I had. Not a single fucking good moment to take all that away. And that day...at the end of that day I was gonna stop being a pussy and just _do _this." He shrugs heavily, turning back to Kurt but not looking anywhere near him. "I didn't think it'd be long at all, but now...that shit isn't ever gonna happen. Because of you."

A shaky puff of air escapes Kurt's throat.

"Because I wake up every morning sure that today's the day, and then you knock on my door and tell me good morning like you do every day, and just like that my brain says, 'oh well, not today then. Maybe tomorrow.'" He draws in a shaky breath, rubbing his face with his hand roughly. "So, whatever, you may not think you do a whole lot. But I know you do."

Kurt can hardly even look at him, and this broad, hulking boy in jeans and a polo shirt that probably fit him a month ago and now hangs off him shapelessly. His Dave, this new friend of his that he knows now well enough to know that he hardly knows a single percent of all the things there are to learn about him.

He gets to his feet unsteadily and crosses the small bedroom, and his arms are around Dave in an instant and he's almost crying – almost – but mostly just breathing hard and fast against Dave's shoulder.

Dave hugs him back tightly, silent.

"I might freak out a little bit," Kurt confesses into Dave's shirt.

Dave laughs unevenly. "Yeah, that's probably fair."

"It's _not_ fair. That isn't...it's not fair to you to have only one good thing. It's not..." Kurt hesitates, hoping he isn't miss-stepping. "It's not fair to me, either."

"I know." There's a shift as Dave moves without letting Kurt go. A moment later he's pulled back enough to hold his arm between them, to offer Kurt a small orange pill bottle. "Want it?"

Kurt draws back and meets his eyes. "You don't need them?"

Dave shrugs. "I figure if I have my first big breakthrough here with you, it'll make me feel like less of a loser to go to a shrink for whatever other breakthroughs I've got coming."

Kurt shakes his head, unable to look away from Dave, from the look in his eyes.

Dave smiles faintly, his cheeks coloring. "I know it's not fair to lay my shit on you like this. I never planned to say anything, but...you think I'm gonna get better, and you're fucking smart, so. If I am than it's okay to tell you the truth since it won't be the truth for much longer. Right?"

Kurt reaches up and touches his fingertips to Dave's jaw. He leans in and rises up on his toes and presses his mouth to Dave's.

Despite Mercedes' anger and Blaine's jealousy and Kurt's dad's random questions, there isn't anything sexual about this. Kurt kisses Dave, simple and brief, because there's no words to say what he wants to say, but this communicates the point pretty well.

He draws back after a moment, feeling Dave's next exhale against his cheek and tasting the tang of salt from old tears. He watches Dave's eyes open slowly, and he sees right away that Dave understands. There's no blush, no fluster, none of Dave's usual hints of gay-panic. Dave blinks his eyes open and looks down at Kurt and smiles a familiar crooked, bashful smile.

This is nothing Kurt will tell his dad, or Blaine. It's nothing that would make sense to anyone that isn't Kurt or Dave, but that doesn't bother him so much. He and Dave understand, and that's what matters.

He reaches out and takes the pill bottle from Dave's hand.

He's smart enough to see that this, the whole thing, Dave's admission and everything, isn't exactly normal. Maybe it's not good, not _healthy, _for Dave to rely on Kurt this way, or for Kurt to welcome it as he does. Both of them recognize that it's going a little too far, but Dave is going to get help for it, and Kurt's going to stand with him.

There's still so damned far to go, and both of them know it.

On the other hand, Kurt's beginning to understand that he's been wrong about something that has bothered him for a while. He's thought since he walked into Dave's hospital room the day after his attack that it wasn't fair to Dave to only have Kurt Hummel there to help him. He thought that since he and Dave weren't friends before this happened, since they've actually been outright enemies for most of the time they've been aware of each other, that Dave was suffering somehow to have to lean on Kurt.

He thought it must hurt Dave in some way, having to trust himself and his secrets and his entire life with a guy he's got so much bad history with. But he looks at Dave now and sees that there isn't a hint of resentment in his eyes. He talks about having his first big breakthrough with Kurt as if he's having it all on his own. As if he's close enough to Kurt to _want _to share this with him.

They're friends; Kurt has been comfortable thinking of him as a friend for a while now. This is the first time he understands that it's mutual. That Dave thinks of him as a friend not out of necessity, and not because Kurt's the only one around who's willing to fill the role.

Dave thinks of Kurt as a friend because Kurt's his friend. Dave trusts him to drive him to his dad's house, or to a therapist's office, because they're friends. He trusts Kurt with his tears and his nightmares, which can't be easy for a teenage boy to do.

Kurt wants Dave to get help not because he feels so bad that a fellow human being is suffering, but because his life now would be diminished if Dave wasn't part of it. Because Dave is a shy, smart, foul-mouthed, temperamental jock who hides a fondness for cooking and science because he's been too afraid to step out of his shell for most of his life.

Kurt wants to keep helping him out of that shell not because Kurt's a great guy and poor Dave needs a little moral support, but because Kurt is smart enough to know that there's an amazing guy inside, and he's selfish enough to want to know him.

He looks up at Dave and smiles suddenly, because he knows he won't worry about his place in Dave's recovery anymore. In fact, he's going to have to try hard to keep from being downright smug about it, because apparently Kurt is the only person in the world who's perceptive enough to see Dave for who he is, and that makes Kurt the only person in the whole world who can do this job.

Kurt slips the second pill bottle into his pocket to join the first, and he draws back and loops his arm around Dave's and grins.

"Come on, I'm taking you out for some head-shrinking and a gyro."


	17. Chapter 17

Kurt gets lost on the way to the therapist, despite his GPS, and nearly gets rear-ended by some guy in a brand new Porsche whom Dave instantly dubs 'midlife-crisis-having fucking yuppie shit stain,' and thus he is called. (Later on Kurt wonders if that was some kind of a sign, if the trouble getting the office was an omen he ignored because he doesn't actually believe in omens.)

The address the hospital gave to Dave is the sixth floor of a bigger corporate building, with a bank in the lobby and a plastic surgeon across the hall from the therapist's office. It's distant and impersonal and the woman behind the glass windows in the office itself seems to disapprove of their arriving just shy of on time.

"Fill out this paperwork and bring it back. We'll call your name when she's ready to see you."

Kurt bristles at the woman, but Dave takes the clipboard with a quiet 'thanks' and retreats over to the wall of chairs.

Kurt counts no less than seven fake plants in that lobby, and considering what a small space it is that strikes him as fairly impressive. Not, of course, in a good way. There are a couple of planters dangling from the ceiling with glossy fake vines coming down, and potted plants on the tables next to the National Geographics and Time Magazines. There's a big bushy tree-thing over in the corner, and two different fake daisies in pots on the bitch receptionist's counter.

There's some crazy-person-soothing satellite radio or something piping in, and Kurt listens for a while but can't pick out anything recognizable as a tune. If someone fed Enya a couple of Ambien and only let her use two different keys on the piano, this is the music that would emerge.

He sits there disapproving of things, aware of Dave scratching out his vital statistics onto the forms the receptionist gave him. He glances over now and then – his eyes catch on the Birth Date line near the top and he makes a mental note that Dave's eighteenth birthday is in just over a month.

Dave shifts in his chair and digs his wallet from his jeans. "Here's hoping my dad hasn't taken me off his insurance," he mutters without a glance at Kurt as he pulls out an insurance card and starts copying down information.

_I would happily murder him, with dancing feet and a song in my heart, _Kurt doesn't bother replying. He leans in and watches Dave writing, but his eyes go down to the bottom section, an empty space full of blank lines that starts with the question _Please state briefly your purpose for this visit._

He draws back, a nervous flutter in his gut. How is Dave supposed to answer that question in neat little lines? What kind of question is that to make a person answer before their first session?

He sits there, glaring at the receptionist as she answers phones and flips through papers and generally ignores them, and waits for the moment when the pen scratching stops and Dave is stuck on those blank lines. Kurt needs to help him answer that question, but he can't think of any way to describe the last few weeks 'briefly'.

A few minutes later, though, without freezing or asking Kurt's help, Dave stands up and moves back to the counter. He sets the clipboard down, and Kurt can see the tension in his shoulders and can hear the terse tone of the woman's voice when she pulls the clipboard over with barely a glance at him.

It's everything he can do not to shoot to his feet and march over there. He watches Dave instead, watches the way he turns, the heavy plod of his feet as he comes back to sit beside Kurt.

He tries to smile encouragingly, but Dave doesn't look at him. Just as well, the smile doesn't even feel convincing to Kurt. They sit there for a few minutes, listening to Enya falling asleep on her piano and watching the movements from the receptionist.

At one point a door behind the receptionist's desk opens, and a woman comes out. She's maybe early thirties, casual in blue jeans and smiling like she's coming out of a particularly funny movie or something. She goes to the desk and leans in, chatting with the receptionist and setting up another appointment or whatever.

Then she leaves, sending a friendly smile to Kurt as he watches her go.

For some reason, it doesn't make him feel any better about this whole thing.

Only a couple more minutes pass before the receptionist clears her throat. "David Karofsky."

Dave sucks in a breath and lets it out. He glances at Kurt. "If I start panicking in there I'll text you."

It's a joke, maybe, but Kurt smiles faintly and pulls his phone from his jacket pocket. "I'll keep an eye out."

Dave moves up to the desk, and back to the door the other lady came out of. He sucks in another deep breath as he pushes the door open and vanishes behind it.

Kurt is left to himself and his nervous doubt about this place. He tries not to worry too much – he doesn't know what a therapist's office is supposed to feel like, this might by completely common – but ends up turning on his phone after just a couple of minutes.

He's planning to throw birds at pigs for a while, but he's got a text waiting for him, so he checks that instead.

_Were u serious about wanting me 2 visit?_

It catches Kurt a little off guard, but he answers Mercedes carefully.

_I thought you said the idea was completely messed up._

As he waits for an answer he opens up his calender and adds in Dave's just-learned birthday into next month. He spends an idle few minutes trying to guess what astrological sign Dave is (he doesn't believe in astrology, either, but it's as good a distraction as any).

_Oh don't misunderstand, boo, it's messed up. But I'm yr best friend and I've got duties._

He smiles to himself at that. _What 'duties'?_

_It's called poking into yr business, bb. If Krfsky is yr business now, that makes him my business 2._

Kurt sighs, but can't bring himself to roll his eyes at her. He looks up at the door that took Dave from him, though, and he can't answer her right away either.

If she wants to play overprotective best friend, it's kind of sweet. But he's got his own overprotective thing going on right now. The guy back in that office, the one Mercedes admitted to despising earlier today, is Kurt's responsibility. As much as he wants his friends to get to know Dave as he is now, he doesn't need them around if they're going to hurt Dave more than he's already hurt.

Kurt is keeping Dave alive.

In a way. And hopefully not _only _Kurt, and not for much longer. But god, that's so huge that Kurt hasn't let it sink in yet. Kurt, who likes to be of use, who likes to be indispensable and important, has never had this kind of influence on someone before.

He isn't sure he likes it, actually. The idea of being that important to someone, to being the thing that keeps them from _killing_ themselves...

It's _huge. _It goes beyond a little bit of codependency. It's huge enough that when he really thinks about it, thinks about his regular good-morning knocks on the door and how he never thought they were anything particularly necessary, he might panic.

He might have stopped doing it. Sometimes he was mostly sure he'd just be waking Dave up and hesitated before he knocked and called out. What if one day he didn't do it? What if he didn't text Dave from school that day, and left him to himself that night, and Dave's only good things were taken from him?

Would he have left a note before he swallowed two bottles full of pills, or would he just be lying there whenever Kurt got impatient and went to check on him?

Would he have told Kurt that it was Kurt's fault?

No. He wouldn't have blamed Kurt, maybe not even in his own head. He hasn't blamed Kurt for any of this, not yet. And in the end isn't everything that happened basically Kurt's fault?

His phone buzzes, reminding him that he should have answered Mercedes by now.

_OK, u want 2 know the truth? I thought blaine was exaggerating until I saw u smile at lunch. Now I guess I should pay attention 2 this guy. _

Kurt does smile at that. He knew Mercedes wouldn't let him down, he just wasn't sure how long it would take her to catch up.

He answers back quickly. _Thanks. He needs as many friends as he can get right now. _

_Don't get ahead of yourself. I said I'd visit, I don't make any promises beyond that._

_It's a start, _Kurt answers, because it really is. It's a good start.

* * *

><p>When the door behind the receptionist's desk opens maybe forty minutes later, Kurt looks up instantly. He plants a smile on his face that doesn't even last from one breath to the next.<p>

Dave walked into that office, but it's Karofsky who comes out.

It's a Karofsky that Kurt hasn't seen in months. He's got his hands balled into fists, he doesn't walk so much as stomp, and in his eyes is the cornered-animal fury that Kurt used to see in him, used to recognize as being really, really dangerous.

He's crushing something in his hand, a piece of paper, and without missing a step he crumples it and all but throws it at the receptionist desk.

It bounces off the glass, but the woman jerks as if struck. "Ex_cuse _me," she snips out.

Dave levels Karofsky's glare on her. _"Fuck_ you, lady," he fires back in return. He storms across the small lobby and out the door without a glance at Kurt.

Oh god.

Kurt pushes out of his chair and rushes out the door and after him. Luckily they're trapped on the sixth floor, and Dave is simply pacing back and forth in front of the elevator doors and hasn't gone far at all.

Kurt approaches him quickly, but has enough presence of mind to not close in on him. "Dave?"

"Fuck this shit. _Fuck_ it," Dave hisses as he paces, not losing a step. "I'm not doing that again, Kurt."

Okay, so he looks like Karofsky but he at least calls Kurt by name. Good sign, maybe.

Kurt edges in a little closer. "I don't...what...?" He frowns at Dave, watching him pacing. "You knew it wouldn't be easy, right?"

Dave wheels at that, cutting his pace short so he can level a glare on Kurt. "That? Was a piece of fucking _cake_. I could have fucking sent you in my place for as much of a shit as that woman gave."

Kurt blinks, surprised. He expected tension from Dave having to talk about the things he most wanted to not even think about, but this is something else.

The doors to the elevator slide open, and Dave is on in a flash and standing by the door, jabbing at the button for the lobby.

Getting into an elevator with Dave at his most Karofsky isn't an easy thing to do, but Kurt steels himself and steps on. Dave doesn't move, though, just stands there thrumming in anger, staring at the closed door and breathing unsteadily.

They make it out the front lobby and to the small parking lot outside, and Kurt slides into the driver's seat.

Dave slams the door when he gets in, and he sits there glaring fire out the windshield. The glare turns to Kurt fast when the engine doesn't start. "Can we get the fuck out of here?"

"No." Kurt swallows, but twists in his seat to face Dave. "Talk to me."

Dave growls under his breath. He faces straight ahead again. "I did enough fucking talking in there."

Kurt's eyebrows come up. "Was it that? The talking? Or the doctor, or...?"

"Doctor." Dave snorts. "Some fucking doctor."

"Dave."

Dave shakes his head, but turns his head to look out the window. "She asked me why I was there. I told her...you know, that I can't fucking sleep and I can't go to school and I can't even look in a mirror without feeling sick to my fucking stomach. All that shit."

Kurt swallows – every time Dave gives away some small detail of what he's going through away, it makes Kurt's chest ache. It makes him feel that much more weighed down.

He doesn't ask about the mirror thing, though. "Did you tell her about what happened?"

"She didn't fucking _ask_." Dave laughs, and there's nothing happy in the sound. "I was ready, too. I went in there...fucking ready to talk about all this shit. Told myself...you know, can't let Fancy down. He says this will help. I can't be one of those assholes that fights against saying anything."

"She didn't ask?" Kurt repeats those words uncertainly.

"No! I rambled on for like ten minutes about how much I fucking make myself sick right now, and she pulls out a checklist or something and starts asking me these fucking questions. She only wanted four fucking words from me: never, seldom, sometimes, or often. Do I think about killing myself? Am I comfortable around other people? Am I comfortable alone? Do I ever hurt myself or others? Like two hundred fucking questions."

Kurt frowns past Dave at the building beyond him. He doesn't know how these things are supposed to go, he's got no ability to judge. But if nothing else Dave's reaction seems pretty damned counterproductive in terms of healing.

Dave laughs, harsh. "So at the end she says it's my lucky fucking day, because she's got some fucking manufacturer's coupons for a trial period of fucking Prozac, and she wants to start me on thirty milligrams or some shit, and do I want her to prescribe something to help me sleep, too? She spent more time talking to me about possible fucking side affects than she did listening to me talk."

He sucks in a breath and twists to glower at Kurt. "Fuck this. Seriously, fuck it. I'm not some...I don't need fucking _Prozac_ from some woman who doesn't even care what..." He scrubs a hand over his face. "I'm not fucking _sick_, Kurt. I know I need help, but...it's not _me. _It's this...it's what happened, it's not me."

Kurt starts the car silently. He should have known, really. That many potted plants outside one office couldn't bode well.

He glances over at Dave before he shifts into drive.

He doesn't want to be completely responsible for another person. The obligation, the scope of the responsibility, will overpower him if he thinks about it hard enough. But something that was supposed to help Dave, something that Kurt encouraged, has hurt him. And Kurt will happily and fiercely make it his responsibility to make sure that nothing like this happens again.

* * *

><p>"Okay, thanks."<p>

Kurt stares at his dad as he hangs up the phone. "Well?"

His dad shrugs, looking troubled. "So apparently there's a difference between psychologists and psychiatrists, and Dave's doctor figured he'd do better with the one that prescribes the pills."

"Dave's doctor was fucking _wrong,_" Kurt barks.

His dad raises his eyebrows. "Yeah. And we're gonna fix that, and you're gonna watch your mouth."

Kurt shakes his head, pacing the length of the kitchen when standing still proves to be impossible. "You didn't see him, dad. We'll be lucky if he agrees to go see anyone else. He's so...he's _hurt_, because some psych..."

"...iatrist."

"Some _psychiatrist_ listened to him for ten minutes and decided to shut him up by giving him Prozac. He doesn't want medication, like there's something _wrong _with him. He just needs some help!"

"I know, Kurt. We'll fix it, okay?"

Kurt shakes his head, but doesn't outright deny the possibility. If it was anyone but his dad promising that, he wouldn't believe it. But his dad makes things better. He fixes things, and Kurt may be very quickly losing faith in the whole world outside of this house, but his growing cynicism hasn't found a way to reach his dad yet.

"Kurt. Would you come sit down or something?"

Kurt laughs unhappily, but when his pace turns him back towards his dad, he sees something in his dad's face as he stands there by the phone watching Kurt.

"Oh god. What? What _else _is there?"

His dad nods at the dining table. "Sit. I'll tell you this, and then I'll go up and talk to Dave. I think you're a little too stressed out right now to have to deliver anymore news."

Kurt moves to the table slowly and pulls out a chair. He doesn't want to sit, he feels itchy and unpleasantly energetic. But he slides into the seat at the head of the table and braces himself.

"Got a call at work today, that detective. Detective Vanderhoek. The one you met-"

"I remember her." Kurt lays his hands in his lap, so he can fist them as tight as he wants and his dad won't notice.

"Yeah. She says the last of the boys who took part in the attack finalized their plea deals. The two of them, the kids who just played lookout..." He frowns. "They've been released. She wouldn't give me details about the other three, but if Dave gets in touch with her she can tell him more."

"Released." Kurt nods carefully. They knew this was coming at least. "Released, and...that's it? Are they going to...to show up at school tomorrow, or...?"

His dad shrugs. "They're minors and I'm not a relevant party, she wouldn't tell me. She did give me a few clues about how this kind of thing can get handled on Dave's end, but..." He shakes his head. "She says he can get a lawyer and take them to civil court to sue for...damages, I guess. He can file a restraining order and that would keep them out of McKinley. If he goes back, that is."

Kurt shakes his head, and his fingernails are digging into his palms so hard by now that he's probably drawing a little blood. "Dad..."

"I know, Kurt."

"This isn't...it's not _right._ Why isn't...shouldn't they be thinking about Dave?"

His dad moves in and sits down beside him. "Yeah, seems to me they should, kiddo."

"I mean...the doctor, or the cops, or _some_one? Shouldn't somebody be putting him first?"

His dad reaches out, lays a hand on Kurt's arm. "We can do that job for now. I'm with you, Kurt, we shouldn't be the only ones thinking this way. But even if we are, at least he can lean on us. Right?"

"Is that going to be enough?" Kurt asks the wood grain on the table, unable to look up in case he starts tearing up one more time in however many hours.

His dad doesn't answer. Kurt doesn't really expect him to, since his dad is good about not making promises that he can't keep.

The door to the kitchen opens suddenly. Kurt looks up, brushing away one stray tear quickly.

Dave comes in slowly, his shoulders back and his eyes red. Kurt doesn't even allow himself a moment to hope, because it's obvious that he heard pretty much everything.

He looks from Kurt to Kurt's dad and back again. "I'm going back."

Kurt exchanges brief looks with his dad. "What?"

"To school." Dave shrugs, moving up to the table. He stands behind the chair on the opposite side of them, laying his hands on the chair back. "Not...not tomorrow. Monday, I think. Next week. I'm going back. It's stupid to stay away from there, and it's...it's really boring in this house during the day. And I need to graduate, right?"

"Right," Kurt's dad answers slowly.

Kurt searches Dave's face, but he's more closed-in suddenly than he's been around Kurt lately.

"I've got to wonder if you're doing this for the right reasons, though," his dad goes on.

Dave shrugs. "What're the right reasons? I'm done sitting around here feeling sorry for myself. Especially when it's obvious that nobody else is going to help me, so I'm gonna have to help myself." He flashes a thin smile. "Nobody outside this house, I mean. Anyway, that's your rule, isn't it? Gotta keep my grades up to stay here."

"I told you, we're not holding you to that yet."

"Yeah, but..." Dave frowns. "You said I had to talk to that therapist instead, and sorry about the language, Mr. Hummel, but _fuck _that. Besides," he adds fast when Kurt and his dad both open their mouths to protest that, "if I keep on hanging around here waiting for help than I'm never gonna get any better. I know that. I can tell. None of this shit is getting any better, and I think...I think it's 'cause I'm sitting here waiting for someone to _make _it better."

Dave's eyes go to Kurt and he smiles faintly. "It's not fair to Kurt. I put too much on him, and even though he's...he's been the best..." He lets out a breath. "Even then, I'm still putting things on him that I should be taking on myself." He meets Kurt's eyes. "You already know...you've helped me so damn much. You said earlier that I was strong? You're nuts, because you're the one who's been walking around carrying my weight. I don't want to do that to you anymore."

Kurt returns his gaze, and after a moment he smiles. Maybe these are right reasons, maybe they're wrong, but when they got home a half hour ago Dave was a furious wreck, and now...

Dave draws in a breath and turns to Kurt's dad. "The doctor visit just made things clearer, Mr. Hummel. I've got to...something has to be _my _choice. I've got to be able to control something or I'm gonna go crazy. More than Prozac could help with."

Kurt looks over at his dad.

He isn't happy, that's clear, but he's not shaking his head or arguing. "Just so we're clear on this, Dave – I'm sorry about what happened at that doctor. That shouldn't have happened that way, and we're gonna find you someone who will actually help you. Just going to school isn't going to get you off the hook there."

Dave's small smile vanishes, but he nods stiffly after a moment.

"Kurt."

He looks over at his dad.

"Give Dave and me a minute."

Kurt frowns.

His dad shoots him a mild look. "Wasn't a request, kid. Dave, come here and sit."

Kurt scoots his chair out slowly, but when he looks at Dave he doesn't see more than the slightest hesitation. He stands up, and when Dave passes to slide into his abandoned chair Kurt reaches out and squeezes his arm lightly.

He steps out the door, into the wider, quiet space of the living room. He doesn't go any further than that.

"Dave," his dad says, and if he's worried about Kurt eavesdropping he doesn't show it, not even lowering his voice. "About you and Kurt."

Kurt tenses.

"This is something we should've talked about before now, but I didn't want to add to all the crap going on with you. But you two have a history that I sometimes find it hard to get past."

"Yeah," Dave answers, his voice low.

"You want to explain to me why you being in the closet at school drove you so nuts that my kid had to transfer out?"

There's a pause. Kurt moves in quietly even closer to the door.

"All due respect, Mr. Hummel, Kurt asked me about that once and I put him off. I think I oughtta explain it to him before I talk to anyone else about it."

"Fair enough, but once you two have that talk than we're going to have it too. I'll tell you why I'm asking. You had a bad visit to this doctor, and I get that, and we're gonna fix it. But frankly, Dave, you had your share of anger issues before any of this happened, and the idea of you not dealing with what happened in a healthy way makes me worry about it coming out in an _un_healthy way. And since you and Kurt are joined at the hip these days..."

Kurt frowns, sagging back against the wall beside the door.

But Dave doesn't sound surprised, or put off at all. "I've thought about that, sir. Drives me nuts sometimes...not literally, you know, but...yeah. I get really...really mad sometimes, about all this shi...stuff. And I don't feel really comfortable talking about things with anyone but Kurt, so...I've thought about it, how I might get pissed at the wrong time and if he's the only one around..."

Kurt wants to go back into that kitchen and set them both straight. He isn't scared of Dave losing his temper. He isn't scared of Dave at all, not even after the glimpse of Karofsky he had earlier.

"Okay," Kurt's dad says after a minute. "If you're thinking about it, you're already further ahead of it than I thought you might be. And I have to say I'm glad you said something a minute ago about how piling things on Kurt's shoulders isn't fair to him."

"I know it's not," Dave answers softly. "Even if he's really good about hiding it."

"That's my kid," Kurt's dad answers with a faint laugh. "You pile the world on him and he'll take it. But he's not as strong as he thinks he is. And even if he was...he's a kid. Even if he could handle it, he shouldn't have to."

Dave's voice is so soft that Kurt barely heard him. "I know."

"Not fair to ask someone to handle all that crap on his own, is it?"

"No, sir."

"And a seventeen year old kid deserves a chance to be a kid, right?"

"Yeah. I...I know, and I'm sor-"

"Kurt's not the only seventeen-year-old kid trying to handle too much on his own."

There's a pause. Kurt wants to smile at that, at the little trap of it, but he can't. He stands there, frozen, listening for the rumble of Dave's quiet voice.

It doesn't come.

"So. We'll make plans to get you back to school Monday – _if _you really think you're ready for it – but we're gonna get someone who isn't my son to help you handle this load that's been piled on you. Fair enough?"

No answer comes, but Dave must nod or something because there's the scrape of a chair sliding back on the floor suddenly.

Kurt debates rushing across the room to the couch to pretend he wasn't listening, but in the end he stays there against the wall.

When his dad slips out the door he looks over as if he knew in advance exactly where to find Kurt. "Long day, son, you should get to bed."

Kurt looks back behind him - there's no other sounds of movement behind his dad.

His dad reaches out and claps an arm around his shoulder. He's less that subtle, tugging Kurt away from the wall. "Come on. Dave knows his way upstairs."

Kurt wants to twist away and go back to the kitchen, to make sure the silence isn't a horrible thing, that Dave's really okay. But his dad leads him on, and he goes. The entire world outside of this house feels like it's conspiring against Dave Karofsky, but Kurt has to trust his dad not to lead Kurt away if Dave needs him.

He has to trust in something, or he's going to end up going crazier than Dave.


	18. Chapter 18

Kurt spends his morning classes with his phone in his lap, ready to grab it at the first hint of a text and constantly powering it up to check in case something came in without his noticing.

He doesn't actually send Dave any messages, which he tells himself he ought to just go ahead and do. But Dave is usually the one that starts their text chats, and Kurt wants him to start it today. He just wants to know that things are still okay. That last night and that _fucking _doctor hasn't screwed him up in some big way.

He wanders the halls between classes and keeps his phone tight in his hand, and he tells himself that if Dave hasn't texted him by lunch than Kurt will just call him. Just to make sure.

He did knock on Dave's door before he left for school. He did tell him good morning, like he usually does. Maybe a little louder than usual, though, because it seems to Kurt like Dave might still need a good thing to happen each day.

As he moves around the busy hall before lunch break, he can't help but notice that nobody's really wearing the Bullywhip jackets anymore. He can still spot the patch itself, torn off the jackets and sewed or fastened on to people's backpacks or shirts or whatever. But the whole thing seems depressingly like a fad that's already run its course.

If only Dave could have seen it.

That thought startles him, and Kurt for the first time since last night realizes something: Dave is coming back to school. These ADD children and their lack of commitment...Dave is going to be roaming the halls with all of them soon. If they've lost interest in the Bullywhip movement, what else have they forgotten?

He planned to hide out in the library during lunch to call Dave, but instead Kurt makes a beeline for the cafeteria and luckily manages to snag Santana on her way in, before she can get lost in the crowd of Cheerios or jocks or whoever she wants to hang out with today.

"We need to talk."

She eyes him, but removes herself from the flow of kids pouring in to get lunch and lets him tug her away from the door. "What is it, cupcake?"

Kurt frowns. "You're spending way too much time with Azimio. Can we just talk for like five minutes? It's actually serious."

She's in full Cheerio regalia, and for some reason Kurt, who has worn that uniform himself (only with pants), finds her a shade more intimidating with her hair back and her skirt short enough to risk breaking public decency laws.

But she sighs and tugs her arm from his grasp and walks beside him down the emptying hall. "This had better be-"

"Dave wants to come back."

She turns on him instantly, shock in her eyes. "Already? He said that?"

"Yeah. Monday. He's planning on Monday. And..." Kurt gestures at the halls around them, but is annoyingly unable to put words to his uncertainty.

Santana just nods, though, sharp. "And these clowns are slacking off. Okay." She frowns, stops. then turns on her heel and heads back for the lunchroom.

"Hey!" Kurt moves after her instantly. "Come on, we have to make plans here or-"

"Plans are being made, dolly. I need to go talk to Z. You..." She slows her pace, considering him. "Glee, this afternoon. You sweet-talk Schue and get him to let us turn it into a planning session. They'll help us out. I'll bring Z and...you bring anyone else you know who's got Dave's back."

Kurt huffs offense as she pushes her way into the lunchroom without waiting for a response, but he doesn't go after her. And actually he can't even mind her taking charge in whatever way she can. Kurt is responsible for Dave, in a way that's entirely his own doing, but he doesn't have any kind of pull with the kids at McKinley. Not like Santana or Azimio. Dave will need their help, because Kurt can't handle these halls on his own sometimes so there's no way he can shield someone else.

Strategy session during Glee. He can handle that. Sweet-talking Mr. Schue won't take much effort – he was there the day it happened, after all. He asks Kurt about Dave more often that most anyone else.

Bring anyone you know has his back, Santana said.

Kurt doesn't have the stomach for the lunchroom, and he does still want to call Dave, so he turns and heads the way he came.

It's annoying, but he has no idea who might have Dave's back at this school. Dave doesn't talk about his friends here, nobody except Azimio and Santana. Which makes sense in a depressing way: before all this happened Dave mostly hung out with his teammates, and now Kurt would bet he doesn't trust anyone on the football team for a second.

Kurt doesn't blame him.

Azimio will help, and the Glocks have already showed their willingness to support Dave (even if they did so in a completely misguided way that nearly sent Dave into a panic attack). But the rest of them? Kurt wants them nowhere near this. He doesn't want Dave around anyone who watches doors while their pals attack people, or who circles _wagons _without asking questions just because someone in a letterman jacket tells them to.

The whole culture of it is just...it's offensive. It's insular and secretive and there's nothing trustworthy about any of those guys.

Except maybe Azimio. Kurt hasn't fully made up his mind there yet.

So who does Kurt know who will have Dave's back? There's got to be someone outside of Glee who will help. Maybe Kurt can ask around the math or science classes, see if Dave ever tutored anyone who owes him a favor now. Or maybe some of the Cheerios, because they're part of that whole football universe but they're not violent, oafish football players.

It can't just be the Glee club. Not when Mercedes still resents Dave and most of the rest of the group either won't even bother feigning interest or they'll be willing but idiotic about it as they were when they showed up at Kurt's house that first night.

More to the point, they're strangers to Dave. Even if they prove to be more considerate and intuitive than Kurt's giving them credit for, they're still strangers to him.

Dave was the prom king last year, for god's sake. There have to be people who...

He stops in his tracks, remembering out of the blue that at least one person in this school _has_ shown some pretty intense interest in making sure Dave is okay. And it's someone who has the presence and power of about a dozen normal people.

With a grin he quickens his pace and turns the corner at the end of the hall, headed toward the gym.

* * *

><p>Coach Sylvester isn't in her office, and Kurt's enthusiasm takes a hit when he realizes that she's probably in the lunch room bellowing at children. He leans against the clear glass of her doorway, idly looking in at the glitter of a thousand cheerleading trophies.<p>

He doesn't doubt that she'll help, but she'll probably have to be persuaded to actually come to the choir room and consort with her worst enemies.

In the end he pushes away from the door and lifts the phone he hasn't let go of all day. He checks fast – no new messages – and then sends her a quick text.

_Dave's coming back to school Monday. Can you come by the choir room after school?_

He moves away from the office and lets his feet carry him in a straight line – it's safe enough to do without paying attention, especially in the uninterestingly designed box that is McKinley High School.

He wants Dave to text him so badly he can taste it. Something inane, something random. Some physics reference or uninspired small-talk. Just _something. _But he breaks down and finds Dave's name in his contacts, and makes the call himself.

He wants Dave to be okay enough to text, but he isn't willing to wait for it. He doesn't need to spend the next four hours of class like the last four hours, lost in impatient distraction.

"_Yo. This is Dave, leave a message."_

Kurt frowns, but the beep comes almost at once and he's stuck. "Hey. It's...um, it's me. Just wanted to see...I have glee rehearsal, so...I'll be home late. I wanted to make sure you knew I'd be late. After school, I mean."

And honestly. Kurt likes to think of himself as quick and witty and charming, but there is something about leaving a voicemail that makes his IQ drop at least fifty points.

He clears his throat awkwardly. "You can call me back if you want. It's lunch. Or send me a text, okay? During class. It's fine, my phone's on vibrate. Okay?"

He hesitates, opens his mouth to stress the point that Dave really is allowed to call or text or _some_thing, but he stops himself and figures the message is awkward enough.

He disconnects the call with a sigh.

No answer from Coach Sylvester yet, but she probably doesn't carry her cell phone on her like half the people...

Doorway.

Kurt looks up from his phone as his absent wandering brings him to a door (he's walked into things more than once thanks to staring at that iPhone, he's developed an instinct).

His phone is suddenly forgotten about in his hand.

He draws a breath, looking around. Everything seems quiet, deserted for the chaos of the lunchroom.

So, though he thinks this might be a really, really bad idea, he reaches out and pushes open the door in front of him.

There's a small crowd of kids in there. A cluster of girls, maybe part of the track team? Whatever, they're in uniform but sitting on the bleachers having lunch, and they ignore him entirely as he moves in to the otherwise empty gym.

The doors in the back loom in front of him, and everything in his world seems to narrow and shrink until there's nothing to focus on except those doors and the path he needs to take to get to them.

He tries not to see it as it was last time he was here. He tries not to remember the worry that carved such uncharacteristic authority into Mr. Schue's face. Or the two jocks who stood blocking these doors, still pale from whatever threats Sylvester had bombarded them with to get them to keep everyone out.

Kurt reaches for the bar that will open the closest of the two double doors. His fingertips rest on the cool metal bar, and he thinks he really ought to just get out of here and go eat or something.

But he's here now, and no one is paying him any attention, and something pushes him forward. Something makes him press the bar to open the door, something steers him down the narrow hallway leading to the two sets of locker rooms.

On the left side of the hall is the boys' locker room: memories about his first kiss from a guy, and awkward days changing for PE as far away from the straight boys as he possibly could get. Or changing into his Cheerio uniform with those guys, who were decidedly more comfortable on the whole with his presence. The few rare days when he actually had a football uniform to put on.

That's a strange room in Kurt's mind. Mixed emotions all over the place. It doesn't help that the one memory that burns the brightest – that kiss – is nothing like a simple memory for him anymore.

If he goes through that door, he knows exactly which locker is Dave's. He knows exactly where it happened. He can still picture the cornered rage in Dave's eyes, the way it cracked into something else once Kurt pushed him away in utter shock.

They aren't horrible memories, necessarily. Time has been kind to that kiss. Having a boyfriend and sharing real kisses has changed Kurt's view about what a real kiss actually is. And that was the moment that he realized, that he _knew. _The moment when his tormentor was suddenly not a boogieman, but something that Kurt could almost understand.

Kurt could go through that door and go up to Dave's locker, put himself right there where he was that day, and put some real context to that kiss and the desperate guy who sprung it on him. Maybe let go of any last tendrils of fear or confusion that still clings to that memory.

But, as he knows he's going to, he doesn't go through the door on the right. He turns left.

The dent will still be there.

He knows it will be. He expects it. He steps into the girls' locker room knowing exactly what he'll see. McKinley has budget troubles enough as it is, Kurt is positive that Figgins won't have forked out the money for a hunk of drywall or plaster.

But there's a difference between knowing and seeing, and suddenly...there it is.

He moves in absently towards that dent. He steps up to the wall and reaches out, slipping his fingers down the stippled surface of the wall to the place where that near-perfect circle interrupts everything.

His head. It's Dave's _head_ that made this dent. This dent, the heavy plaster and hard wall, is what gave Dave such a horrible headache and kept him in the hospital for 48 hours for observation. It's what made his dark hair glitter so wetly when Kurt turned a corner and saw him lying there, hidden under towels.

He traces the outer edge of the dent, wondering. Did they drive his head into the wall to take the fight out of him? It seems likely. There were three of them, yeah, but Dave is strong. By then he might have realized...he might have seen that they were serious. They might have already hurt him pretty badly.

Dave never lashes out so hard as when he's cornered. Kurt knows that from experience.

So he fought them, and Kurt doesn't doubt that he could have taken all three of them on, no matter which three jocks it was. So they rammed his head into the wall because he was fighting so hard.

Did he fall after that? How badly did it hurt him? Did he black out for a while, or just stumble a little? Did he fall or did they still have to bring him down?

His wandering fingers stop abruptly.

The wall is still brown.

It's faded, but in the cracked plaster and the dented fragments there's still a lingering stain, a discolored spot.

Dave's blood.

Kurt draws his hand back suddenly, his stomach aching.

He turns.

Just around the corner, around the end of the row of lockers, his feet stop at maybe the exact same spot where he froze the day it happened, when he looked out at the scene in front of him and simply couldn't comprehend what it meant.

The bench hasn't been fixed. There's a sign taped to it, a piece of paper and the word 'CAREFUL' on the side that was knocked out of its bolts.

Still usable, pushed into place where it's supposed to be. But broken. Careful.

The lockers are still dented, though it looks like someone made a cursory attempt to hammer some of them out. Maybe just enough that the locker doors can open and close.

That's what counts, isn't it? It might be ugly, like that dent in the wall, but it's still functional. Why bother fixing it?

Kurt moves to that bench and steps to the edge of it. Unsure exactly what he's doing or why, he sets his phone down – finally – on the bench and grabs the end with both hands. He pushes.

There's an ugly scraping sound as the bench slides out at an angle. Back to where it was, where it had been shoved or knocked or pushed off of it's _bolts. _

Why did it happen? He can't picture the scene. It seems obvious – three football players cornering a guy like Dave, this narrow space, bodies slamming around. Of course it got knocked off its bolts on one end.

But _why? _Did they throw Dave into it? Is that how they cracked his ribs and made it so hard for him to get up and down stairs on his own? Did they drag him over here after driving his head into the wall, and slam him down into that bench?

Did they mean for him to land on it? Or did they want it knocked to the side so there would be more room on the floor?

It takes space, after all. Doesn't it? Wouldn't it? For two guys to hold Dave down while the third one got on...

On top of him.

Did hitting his head give him any distance at all? Or did he know what was coming the whole time?

He begged them. He told Kurt...he begged them to stop. It hurt. It hurt so fucking bad and he _begged_.

Kurt realizes he's breathing strangely, sharp and fast and shallow. He realizes that he's dropped to sit on the bench and doesn't know when that happened, that his fingers are digging into the side, the wood, and he's staring at the floor and he can't catch his breath.

He can feel the heat on his cheeks, the slip of dampness collecting under his chin, dripping down. He can't breathe, it's just like it was that morning, he can't fucking _breathe_.

All he can think about is what Dave must have...have _thought. _What he must have said, at first laughing them off when they came up to him, then getting pissed off, maybe, when they kept coming. Not scared, not at first, because Kurt's had it from a first-hand source that Dave will fight the entire male half of the glee club all at once without hesitating.

He wouldn't have been scared until they hit his head. Kurt knows it, like he watched it happen he _knows_ it. They came at him because Azimio spread it around that Dave is gay. They came at him with the same 'fag' and 'cocksucker' sneers that Kurt's always received from guys like them.

But Dave fought. If Dave realized that they weren't going to back off he might have even thrown the first punch. He would have been furious and he would have fought, and then they found some way to push him back, to bash his head into the wall hard enough to leave a dent, to make him bleed, to give him a concussion.

Then Dave would have started to get scared, because suddenly he couldn't fight so hard.

Then they got him down to the floor.

God. _God, _Kurt's imagination is too good, he can see things. He can hear things; the thumps of fists on flesh, the way Dave must have surged and fought and tried and _begged_.

His fingernails were bleeding. Kurt saw it up close. His fingernails bled and the floor under his limp hand was marked with blood trails like gashes. He clawed the floor, until his fingernails broke. Trying to get away.

Kurt can't breathe, and his fingers ache from clutching the bench, but he doesn't realize he's sobbing – really, sobbing, shaking from it – until there are sounds from around the corner by the door, and happy female voices burst in and chase away his merciless imagination.

He grabs his phone, shoves to his feet and darts away, towards the bathroom stalls in the back by the showers. He goes to the furthest stall from those cheerful voices, slams the door behind him, and drops to sit on the seat of the toilet.

He can't stop the sobs, but he hides. And when they hear him, his thin, high voice keening with sobs, these laughing girls quiet down.

One approaches the bathroom and clears her throat. "Hey, you okay in there?" she asks, this anonymous happy person who has no idea what happened in the very room she's standing in.

Without even thinking of answering, Kurt kicks his leg out and pounds his foot into the door, hard. A clear sign for this girl, this stupid other person, so leave him the hell alone.

"Whatever," the good Samaritan sniffs, predictably. "Bitch."

They do whatever they're there to do, slamming lockers and chatting and sparing no more thoughts to the person sobbing in the stall. And then they go, laughing again as they get to the door and it shuts and things fall silent.

Kurt isn't sure how long it takes him to quiet down. He's undoubtedly missed almost an entire period – his feet are falling asleep and his hand, clenched around his defenseless iPhone, actually hurts when he pries his fingers loose.

He can't be in here when it fills with an entire PE class of giggling girls, so he pushes to his feet unsteadily.

His phone buzzes at him and he nearly drops it. Staying in the safety of his locked stall, he leans against the wall and fights to even out his breathing as he unlocks his phone.

He missed a call. There's a voice mail. There's Dave's name.

He nearly drops the thing in his shaky haste. He finally gets through to voice mail and his hand is shaking as he holds the phone to his ear.

"_You leave really awkward messages, Fancy, you know that?" _Dave doesn't sound like himself. The words are teasing but the tone is wrong.

Kurt presses the phone to his ear and shuts his eyes.

"_Anyway, don't you have Glee like almost every day? It's cool, okay? I'll make sure Carole saves you a plate of heath food." _There's a pause, and Dave's voice quiets and softens. "_I'm okay, Kurt. You don't have to worry about me every second. But...thanks. See you tonight." _

Kurt is breathing too fast again, but he can't help it. That softness in Dave's voice. It's a sound Kurt never heard from him before this month, but it's become so common now that Kurt needs to hear it.

He needs it like he needs smirks and grumbles and hoarse laughter and the way Dave's voice speeds up just a little bit when he's talking about one of his physics things and he's so damned excited about it. He needs it like the glint of anger in Dave's eyes, the snap of his words when he's ticked off. The awkward way he moves, like he doesn't trust his own center of gravity. The shapeless clothes that do him no favors.

There's good and there's bad but it's all Dave, and Kurt can't even breathe thinking that this room and the crumpled lockers and the broken bench and that dent in the wall almost took Dave away before Kurt ever really met him. That three overgrown children, three kids their own age, did their absolute hardest to take Dave away from him.

He doesn't understand how Dave got through it and still manages to have softness in his voice for Kurt. He can't imagine how much Dave has to fight against to shout about _shawarma_ or get excited about his science things.

Worst of all, Kurt can't imagine how much softer and funnier Dave could have been if Azimio had just kept his mouth shut. If Kurt had been smart enough to see inside his closet before something this horrible happened, who would he have met?

He told Dave once that he felt sorry for him because in Figgy's office his dad had talked about him like he was suddenly a stranger, when the truth was he had always hidden so much from his dad. But he didn't suddenly wake up gay, it was always there.

He didn't suddenly wake up a shy, smart guy with a bashful smile and a profane sense of humor. He's been that all along.

Kurt hates Jason Campbell and his two sadistic friends for hurting him. He hates Dave's dad for making sure his closet formed around him so impenetrably. And he hates himself, because he didn't see through that closet any better than anyone else, though in all of McKinley – maybe all of Lima – he's the one person that should have been able to.

* * *

><p>He misses his afternoon classes, but no one comes looking. He doesn't stay in a stall in the girls bathroom, of course. He sits through a class change, he waits out the laughing and chatting and yelling and slamming locker doors, and then he ducks his head and intently avoids looking anywhere around him as he races back through the locker room and out the door.<p>

It's last period when he emerges from the gym, and he's already late for Chemistry so he only goes as far as Sue Sylvester's office.

She's not there, of course. She's out screaming at cheerleaders. But her office isn't locked, and he goes in without waiting and sits down in front of her desk, and stares at his phone because it's the only link he's allowing himself with the world until his hands stop shaking.

He opens a new text and starts and stops a dozen attempts at messages. He wants Blaine to call him and be quiet and soothing in his ear. He wants to call Carole or his dad, to ask them how they can love someone as much as they love their kids and not be _paralyzed _every time they're out of sight? Knowing what they know about the world, how is possible to stand caring about someone?

But that's too dramatic, and he had a bit of a breakdown but he's not selfish enough to bring anyone down with him.

In the end he texts Dave on a whim.

_If the health food at dinner is too extreme just text me, I'll run to the border on my way home. _

It's as far from deep and meaningful as it could possibly be, but he sends the message and draws in a breath and feels a little closer to human than he did.

The answer comes slowly, but it's worth the wait.

_Chalupa! Not as cool as shawarma but whatever. If youre offering the Bell than Ill go ahead and tell you, the health food is way too extreme. Like bean sprouts or some shit._

Kurt smiles for the first time in hours and gives himself permission to relax. _What do you want, then? Tortillas meat and cheese, or cheese meat and tortillas? All that variety, I wouldn't presume to guess what you like. _

He's able to keep smiling as he sits back and waits for an answer.

* * *

><p>And when the bell rings at the end of the day he looks around in surprise – Sylvester hasn't shown back up and now he's got to get to Glee and plan strategies for Monday.<p>

As he gets out of the chair in the silent office and sends a last _BBL _to Dave, he realizes that getting into a thirty-minute text debate about how much variety one fast food place can get out of the same combination of ingredients is the most fun thing he's done since...

Since the last time he and Dave got into some text match, or had a study session, or took a trip to a dingy Gyro Hut.

Sometimes Kurt thinks he sticks so close to Dave out of guilt, or trauma, or some overdeveloped nurturer instinct. But lately he's pretty sure that he sticks close to Dave because he's never felt so witty, or had so much fun, or been so needed, as he is when Dave's around.

It doesn't seem to matter if they're laughing at each other's jokes or Dave's sobbing on the floor holding Kurt like a life-raft; either way Kurt leaves Dave's side sure that whatever just happened with Dave, there's nowhere Kurt would rather have been.


	19. Chapter 19

_Author's Note: I'M SORRY! Meant to get this up faster. Blahblah excuses blahblah working long hours blah._

_Anyway, here's this. It's an absolutely gorgeous day in Seattle and I spent most of it in a coffee shop finishing this up, so you're not allowed to be mad that it's late. (And yes, I'm one of those people at Starbucks with a laptop. Don't judge me, I've got a lot of distractions at home and it's easier to write outside my house.) In fact, after I post this and do some things here I might go back out to another coffee shop and work on some more. I'm not promising two chapters today, but I'm willing to give it a try. Plus I really like caffiene._

* * *

><p>When he walks into the choir room Kurt's occupied by hoping that the signs of his breakdown earlier aren't visible on his face. No one can spot trouble faster than Mercedes Jones, and he really doesn't need her looking at him any harder than she already is.<p>

The moment he walks through the door he realizes he has a bigger problem: rehearsal is already going on. Artie's out front and center, Brad's playing, and most of the club is already there, clapping and grinning and happy.

Santana sits in the back, arms folded, glaring out at Schue. But the glare turns on Kurt the moment he comes in.

And yeah, his little breakdown and then hiding away in Sylvester's office meant that he hasn't talked to Mr. Schue about postponing rehearsal. Which means Artie's mostly through his (good, but predictable) version of Dancing in the Streets, and the mood is way too happy in here.

Kurt flashes Santana a small, apologetic smile, and moves around the piano to grab Mr. Schue in mid-clap. "Can I talk to you?"

Mr. Schue smiles over at him. "Sure, Kurt. Just a minute, okay?"

The room breaks into cheerful applause on top of his words, and Artie gives an entirely non-humble bow from his chair. The theme of the week is Celebrations. Kurt isn't sure there's a worse theme out there for him to put his drama in the middle of.

"Great job, Artie," Mr. Schue is saying as Artie waves and soaks in the applause. "It reminds me of our first few glee rehearsals ever, when I would have thought giving you the lead in a song about dancing was ironic." Mr. Schue grins, moving around the piano and away from Kurt. "I think we can all appreciate that someone like Finn singing Dancing in the Streets would be more ironic at this point."

Finn grins and rolls his eyes as they laugh.

"So!" Schue claps his hands, surveying the group. "Who's next?"

Mercedes' hand flies up. "I volunteer Kurt!"

Kurt blinks over at her, bookbag still clutched around his shoulder as he stands away from them all on the other side of the piano.

She grins at him across the room. "Come on, boo, it's been like three weeks since we've heard you sing. Don't even act like you don't want to."

"Yeah, Kurt, come on. Show off," Finn calls from his seat in the back.

Kurt smiles despite himself as other voices call out encouragement. Honestly he's rarely felt less like singing as he has lately – it hasn't stopped feeling like a silly kind of indulgence, inappropriate in the face of real problems. But he moves around the piano slowly, going to the chair beside Mercedes and setting his bookbag down.

She grins at him unapologetically. "You'll thank me when you're done."

He isn't so sure about that. He hasn't even thought about a song to do around a theme like Celebrations.

But as he approaches the center of the floor, that realization actually gives him an idea. He faces front, looking over the smiling faces of the closest friends he's made in his three-plus years of high school, and most years before that.

He draws in a deep breath, and is honest.

"I haven't felt much like celebrating lately," he says quietly. "But I guess that's a valid approach to a theme, isn't it? I mean, if the theme is 'love' we sing about being in it or leaving it behind or suffering from it. So...why not sing about what it's like when the world is celebrating and you have to force yourself to play along?"

The smiles are fading. Finn is looking almost solemn, maybe regretting pushing Kurt to sing when Finn more than anyone here knows what kind of a month its been.

Kurt sighs, but pulls up a stool and sits down. He hasn't prepared this, he didn't talk it over with Brad or the band kids who get their extra credit by playing for glee rehearsals. But he's not scared to go acapella.

It's slower than it should be, and he can hear the thinness in his own voice, but...it's a song.

"_Smile when your heart is aching_

_Smile even though it's breaking_

_When there are clouds in the sky_

_You'll get by if you smile_

_Through your fear and sorrow_

_Smile and maybe tomorrow_

_You'll see the sun come shining through _

_For you..."_

He draws in a breath to start the next verse, but something in his chest tightens and cuts him off.

Is he singing to himself? He's tried now and then to grin and joke and laugh when he doesn't really feel like it. To cheer Dave up, or to break some suffocatingly tense mood. To put on a braver face to his dad or Carole, or Dave.

But he's never put on a smile or faked a laugh or made some bad joke because he thinks it will make anything better. Not really. It's a mask, not a cure. It's a trick.

He clears his throat, aware of the staring faces in front of him, and opens his mouth to keep the song going.

But there's nothing. He can't even remember the next verse.

"Kurt?"

He glances over at Schue, who's sitting with the rest of the club. He smiles weakly, but when his eyes go behind Schue and he sees Santana, he figures this is as good an opportunity as any.

At least he already killed the mood all on his own.

"Looks, guys," he starts, slow. That inconvenient emotional breakdown has left him entirely unprepared for this. "I need your help."

Mr. Schue's on his feet a moment later, frowning. "What's going on, Kurt?"

Kurt doesn't look at him. He looks at Mercedes, Puck, Lauren. Artie. The people he isn't sure about. "Dave Karofsky is coming back to school on Monday."

Mercedes gets tight in the shoulders and her eyebrows loft, but she watches him silently.

Kurt turns to Santana, uncertain.

She stands up smoothly and moved down the rows of chairs to join Kurt. "He's coming back to school, and we're helping him. And that's it." She nods at Kurt and faces the group. "Kurt's nice enough to ask you. I'm not. We're _going_ to help him."

"Yeah, of course," Finn says, blinking from his sprawled slouch at the back. He seems to be surprised they're even asking.

Kurt loves his stepbrother. He's not surprised by it anymore, but he keeps getting reminders of _why _he loves Finn, and it's nice_._

"I'm confused," Lauren says from her constant spot beside Puck. "Why do we care about Karofsky suddenly?"

"I could give a crap if you care about him or not," Santana answers instantly. "I don't remember saying you have to care, but you're going to help."

Lauren's eyebrows loft, slow and challenging. "Really, J-Lo?" she drawls out.

"Actually...I'm confused too," none other than Rachel pipes up from her seat front and center. "Why would we help someone like him?"

Santana is busy glaring at Lauren, leaving Kurt to answer. "Because he needs help. And he doesn't have anybody else."

"That's..." She frowns at Kurt. "I only mean...we're not exactly the height of popularity at McKinley. Karofsky is a jock, doesn't he have the entire school on his side already?"

That manages to drag Santana's eyes away from Lauren. "Come on, Berry, don't you pay attention to anything that happens outside of this room?"

Artie clears his throat before she can answer. "Um. Speaking for myself here...there's a lot of rumors about what happened, but even if the whole school hated Karofsky now...why is it our job to move in and help?" He holds up a hand instantly to fend off Santana's glower. "I'm serious, okay? Yeah, glee club is for losers and outcasts who don't have a lot of help anywhere else. But the doesn't mean we have some obligation to instantly forgive someone who's been horrible to us for years just because he's suddenly got no other friends."

Rachel turns from Artie to Kurt, eyes wide. "Is Karofsky joining glee club?"

"Okay, hang on." Kurt raises his hands. This isn't active rebellion or open shouting, but it's not the reaction he was hoping for. "No, he isn't joining..."

He hesitates, glances over at Santana.

She returns the glance, but seems dubious.

Still, might be worth asking. "So far there's no plans for him to join the glee club. I'm not asking for this because the glee club has some obligation. I'm asking this because..." He frowns. "Because you're my friends, and I can't do it alone."

That shuts everyone up, if only for a minute.

"He's really staying with you guys?" Quinn asks suddenly, looking from Kurt back behind her towards Finn.

Finn shrugs, but pushes to his feet suddenly and plods down the stand of chairs to join Kurt and Santana. "Yeah," he says, addressing the whole group. "He's staying with us. He's gone through a lot of crap and it turns out he's a decent guy. So you do what you want, but I'm in."

"You guys are suckers," Lauren says, rolling her eyes at the whole group. "I've been around jock losers like Karofsky since I started kicking their asses in PE in third grade. You really think because he's been kicked around a little bit he's going to turn into some nice guy?"

Puck glances over at her. "Dude, come on. We saw him the night he got out of the hospital, he's not-"

She elbows him. "Don't 'dude' me. You think this is some fairy tale? You pull the thorn out of the lion's paw and he's so grateful he decides not to eat you?" She snorts. "There's a reason that story's a fairy tale. Because in real life the lion will eat you, because he's a pissed-off animal that doesn't know any better."

Puck looks from her to the three people standing on the floor in front of them.

"Is he going to join glee club?" Rachel asks, leaning in towards Kurt and attempting something like a conspiratorial whisper. "What range is he? He's not another tenor, is he? Is he still homophobic? Because even a good baritone may not be worth that."

Kurt's getting more and more tense seeing how many of his friends still seem completely undecided or underwhelmed. He hisses at Rachel, "You really never pay attention to anything, do you? He's not homophobic, he's gay."

She blinks. "Well. A person can be both."

And, okay. Can't argue that. Kurt wasn't exactly expecting a moment of profundity from Rachel Berry, but he lets it go. He can't let himself lose focus.

He looks over at Mercedes, who's been uncharacteristically quiet through all this. He addresses his words to everyone, but keeps his eyes on her.

"I won't say that he's changed, because I don't think that's what happened. I just think he's been hiding for a long time, and he's not hiding anymore. At least, he isn't with me and my family, outside of here. He's _better _now because he doesn't have to hide, and if he comes here Monday and everything is just how it was..."

He'll start hiding again.

Kurt's been worried about Dave getting scared, getting ambushed by people seeking revenge for five members of the football team being dragged out in handcuffs. He's been worried about Jacob's microphone and people's jokes. He's been worried about someone hurting Dave.

He didn't realize until those last words that he's also worried about Dave regressing. About the stifling halls of McKinley and the narrow environment of a high school pressuring Dave back into his shell.

He can handle having to fend away Jacob and tell off snickering gossipers. He doesn't know if he can handle watching Dave fade back and Karofsky take his place again.

Kurt draws in a breath and looks over the faces staring back at him. "Well? How about it?"

Brittany stands up, wandering over to Santana. "Dave never looked at my chest like everyone else on the team," she says, reaching out and snagging Santana's hand, linking pinkies so casually Kurt can't tell if she's actually making a stand with them or just felt like going to stand by Santana right then.

But Britt smiles over at Kurt. "At first I was confused, because my chest is hot. But now I don't mind so much."

Kurt smiles back, because with Brittany it's hard not to.

"Yo, where the nerds at?"

The sudden shout is loud and makes Kurt twitch, but no mistaking that voice. He doesn't quite lose his smile as all eyes go back to the choir room door.

Azimio strolls in, letterman jacket on, Bullywhip logo fasted to the front over the M. He's got books in his hand, a casual grin on his face.

He takes in the room, the small group standing up, the confused or annoyed or disgusted people still sitting down. He doesn't miss a beat, dropping his books on the piano as he passes, slinging an arm around Santana's shoulder and grinning at Britt on her other side.

"Sorry I'm late," he says to Santana, and his eyes move over to Kurt for just a moment, including him. "Had to talk my way out of practice. Had this whole genius story made up about my volunteer firefighter uncle calling me for help saving a bus full of toddlers or some shit, but. Beiste. She called me on my BS, so I told her it was about Dave and she practically threw me out." He nods over at Kurt. "She says to tell him hi."

Kurt nods with a smile.

"What are you doing here?" Tina, so far quiet from her spot beside Mike, speaks up sharply.

Azimio shrugs, casual as ever. "You think I'm gonna trust my boy with a bunch of choir nerds?"

"The choir nerds don't seem to be that eager to help, actually," Santana mutters.

Azimio's eyebrows lift. He looks over the room, at Kurt and Finn and the cheerleaders and him, all standing there in a group, and then looking at the less than friendly faces watching from their seats.

He laughs. "Oh, hell, isn't that just funny? So much for the jocks being the closed-minded ones, huh? And, hey – Evans. Puckerman. Abrams, Chang. the fuck are you doing? Get down here."

Artie rolls his eyes and stays where he is. Sam glances at Quinn, but pushes to his feet.

She reaches for the sleeve of his jacket instantly. "What are-"

Sam shrugs. "We saw him when he got out of the hospital." He tugs his arm free and lops down to the floor, moving up to Kurt and grinning sheepishly.

Puck and Mike don't move, both of them sitting by their almost openly-hostile girlfriends. Tina even reaches over and grabs Mike's hand, tight and possessive.

"Don't fucking move," Lauren mutters to Puck.

Kurt opens his mouth to talk, to entreat, to get through to Mercedes is no one else. He doesn't bother waiting for the Glocks to work out their issues.

But before he can talk, Puck's on his feet. "Screw it."

"Puckerman."

He glanced back at Lauren, giving his fiercest grin. "Come on, you know us pissed-off jock losers so well, you didn't see this coming?"

She frowns.

Puck slips down around Artie's chair and moves up to Finn.

"Okay, I'm sorry," Tina says, and from the look on Mike's face she's holding his hand tightly enough to hurt. "Am I the only one who remembers that Karofsky terrorized Kurt and drove him out of school?"

"Old news, Lucy Liu," Azimio answers fast. "Don't worry about that, though, it's cool. You guys keep your asses in those chairs and let us handle things. I know you dorks like to convince yourselves that you're the good guys in this school. The misunderstood martyrs or what the hell ever. I always thought that was bullshit, so this is great for me. Proof that I was right."

"Oh, what the hell do you know about us?" Lauren asks, still frowning out at Puck.

"I know you using Ladyparts Hummel as justification for being stubborn dicks is BS," Azimio answers easily. "Because guess what? He's down here with us."

"Kurt is a forgiving person," Quinn answers, folding her arms over her chest. "Some of us need a reason to be as forgiving."

"It's true, anyway."

Kurt's eyes go to Mercedes, and as much as he's tense about this whole back and forth, that tension stretches out times ten when he hears her voice.

She looks at him from her chair, considering. "Be honest, Kurt. Why did you leave school?"

Kurt frowns and looks away, but all eyes are on him.

"Well?"

He looks back at Mercedes. "Because of Dave," he says, and though everyone already knows it it still hurts to say it out loud.

She nods. "And why did you come back?"

He blinks.

She raises her eyebrows. "Come on. What's the thing that brought you back here?"

Hope is a tingle moving up his spine, and he meets her eyes and almost smiles. "Dave," he answers, just as honestly. "He brought me back."

She sighs, as though she wasn't expecting that answer. But her mouth quirks up and gives her away as she slides out of her seat. "Well, can't argue with that."

He reaches out and grabs her hand tight as she reaches him, and he squeezes hard.

She grins at him, but turns haughty eyes back to the kids still sitting.

"I knew the sista would come through," Azimio says, shooting Mercedes a grin. "Now since the rest of you losers are outnumbered, I think it's t-"

"Sit down, meat head."

Another voice, sharp and sudden. Unexpected, but hoped for. Something inside of Kurt warms and instantly feels better when he looks back and sees what he hoped most to see.

Sue Sylvester is standing back behind the piano. Standing beside Schue, which is strange enough, and somehow nobody noticed her coming in.

Nobody moves, since everyone except Kurt, standing or sitting, is shocked to see her here.

She responds to that silence characteristically. "I said sit down. All of you. Sit. Shut your gaping mouths and plant your butts in a chair."

Mr. Schue smiles faintly beside her, watching the group of them silently.

Kurt holds Mercedes' hand tightly as he returns to the chair he set his bookbag beside. They sit down as the others drift back towards their chairs.

Puck doesn't sit beside Lauren. He moves up to the back with Finn and drops beside his best friend.

Sylvester waits for them, her usual disdain in her eyes. When they're all seated she nods at Schue, and they move up to the front where Kurt had taken his stand. They move like a united front, and that might be a first.

"If you haven't realized by now," she says, surveying the group of them, "singing and dancing is canceled for the day. Your friend showed up here asking for help, and that's what we're going to deal with. So whoever in here doesn't want to have a part in this, you can leave."

There's a pause. Rachel sends a betrayed look to Mr. Schue, though because it's Rachel she's betrayed about the disruption towards glee rehearsal, not the reason for that disruption.

"I'm serious," Sylvester says. "Anybody in this little pack who's incapable of seeing that there's worse things in the world than taking a cup of crushed ice and corn syrup in the face, get your things and get out of here. Now."

Lauren grabs her bookbag and glares back at Puck.

"Ten seconds," Sylvester says, shooting a look at Lauren and Tina specifically. "Ten seconds to get your butts out of this room, or else you're part of this."

Puck looks back at Lauren, neutral.

Tina shifts, but Mike grabs her hand this time, and he is noticeably not moving.

Ten seconds pass.

Lauren drops her bag with a muttered curse. Tina sighs and sits back. Rachel looks longingly over at the piano.

"Okay." Sylvester folds her arms over her chest, looking over them like a queen with a crowd of particularly irritating subjects. Her eyes stop on Santana, and then Kurt, and she nods. "Porcelain. Lips. You're up."

* * *

><p>Once they actually get started planning things, the time goes fast. Kurt is as vague as possible about the things Dave went through, focusing more on the things that he's worried about Dave getting exposed to when he comes back. They talk about the rumors, the possibility of revenge from the football team, the smirking hostility of the hockey team, Jacob Ben Israel. And they come up with the ways they can keep those things away from Dave.<p>

Azimio and the Glocks can handle the football team – with five of the first string players gone, they make up a majority of the senior players as is it. It won't be hard to push the rest of the team into keeping their mouths shut.

Kurt has an idea about the hockey team, so he offers to take that on. He can't voice his plan, since it's still half-formed, but he does finally agree to let Finn help him out with them, in case they get slushie-happy or something.

Jacob is harder to puzzle out, since no one yet has had any visible effect on damping his enthusiasm for getting into everyone's business. No threats or curses or promises have yet to sway that kid, and no one knows him well enough to guess at what might work.

Santana speaks up, though, volunteering to take him on. She even promises not to be homicidal or leave any (visible) bruises, so though it's an uneasy decision they give her the job.

And for the gossip and rumors and laughter, the other kids in the halls and what they might say or do?

That's where all of them come in. If nothing else there are a lot of them, and even if they have to escort Dave from class to class like he once did with Kurt, that's still a start.

Rachel invites them all to her place over the weekend for a decorating party after Santana grudgingly tells her that she can bedazzle her Bullywhip jacket all she wants as long as she wears the damn thing.

They break up the talk at the time rehearsal usually ends, and though some people are less enthusiastic than others, everyone seems to be on the same wavelength about the plan.

"Besides," Artie says (he became more enthusiastic as the talk went on), "how bad-ass will that make us look? The Glee club: bodyguards for a star football player."

Lauren is the only one who leaves less than happy. Even Tina stays behind to talk to Rachel and Mercedes about ideas for altering the Bullywhip jackets into something more stylish.

Finn tells Kurt to let his mom know he won't be home for dinner – he and Puck and Sam are going to grab some food and go back to Puck's to play video games. A celebration, Puck says, that for once Puck ended a day more bad-ass than his girlfriend.

It took a while to get everyone on the same page, longer than Kurt hoped, but in the end they all got there so it was still better than he feared. And when Kurt leaves the choir room with his arm slung around Mercedes, he knows he was right to trust the glee kids with this. He glances back at Schue and Sylvester, hanging back as the kids leave to talk about all this from an adult perspective or whatever, and he knows he's right to trust them both.

When Dave comes back to school it won't be with the same group of friends he left behind. There will be very different people showing him support and watching his back. Kurt can't help but think that that is going to be a very good thing for Dave.

* * *

><p>The house is silent when he comes in. His dad's car isn't in the driveway, and Finn is off being a straight teenage boy for an evening, and the living room is empty and quiet.<p>

Kurt shuts the door quietly behind him and heads up the stairs. He drops his things in his room and knocks on Dave's door, pushing it open when there's no answer.

It's empty.

Kurt frowns, but heads back downstairs.

He's got his mouth open to start calling for people when he hears a voice coming from the kitchen. Carole, obviously, and he relaxes a little and moves towards the kitchen door.

He slows, then stops, as her words become audible and he hears what she's talking about.

"-to get yourself a boyfriend or something. It's not unusual for a kid your age, you know."

Dave's voice is soft as he answers her. "I just don't think it's gonna happen, that's all."

"Why not?" Carole sounds cheerful, but there's a note to her voice. A pinch of some maternal worry, maybe.

"I dunno, a few reasons." Dave sounds a little awkward, but not nearly as reluctant to answer as Kurt might have thought he'd be. "I told Kurt once...I don't know anyone who's gay except him and his dick boyfriend. But...even though I picked up most of what I know from TV or whatever, it's still pretty clear to me that I don't fit in with guys like that."

Kurt frowns, disappointed. His argument to Dave about this issue obviously wasn't effective.

Carole stays quiet, and there are random shuffling sounds that sound like she's in the middle of preparing dinner.

"I mean, come on. Kurt's the one I've known about longest. You think somebody like him would look twice at a guy like me?"

Kurt steps back, hugging the wall in the exact same place he did when he was spying on his dad and Dave this way. They don't know he's here, so he doesn't have to answer that question, and he's strangely relieved about that.

Carole laughs quietly. "I don't know many gay men myself, actually. Except the ones I've dated, though some of them I only suspect."

Dave snorts.

"The curse of living my whole life in Lima. But I can safely say that Kurt Hummel, as lovely as he is, isn't every gay man everywhere. In fact, I'm getting to know a kid who's a living example of that." She sounds like she's smiling. "I know when you're a teenager you think you're the only person in the world going through your particular problems, but as you get older you realize how wrong you are. Dave...you are a guy who plays sports and video games and cares less about fashion, and you like guys. Do you really think that in the whole world that's something that's happened to you alone?"

"Well, sure, it sounds dumb when you say it that way," Dave says. "You want to hear something _really_ dumb? I kind of tried. Over the summer, when I was finally not punching walls every time the word 'gay' came up...I tried to see if I could do it. Get into it, you know, the way Kurt and his preppy little boyfriend are. I spent whole days shut up in my room, watching these fucking – sorry – musicals on Youtube. Watched that Queer Eye show everyone used to freak out about – you know, the one where the gay guys are pretty and stylish and prissy, and they take some idiot who looks like me and 'fixes' them?"

"I used to love that show," Carole says with a light laugh. "But it sounds kind of horrible suddenly."

"Seriously. I hated it, I only watched a couple of those. But I looked up some stuff, and...you should hear Kurt when I make some reference to something. Some designer or some musical or something. He looks at me like I'm this whole other person, like he thinks I'm _better _when I know shit like that. Sorry. Stuff like that."

Kurt winces.

"He thinks I'm more interesting because I know that stuff. But I don't, not really. I don't want to. I don't hate all of it, but none of it's as cool as football or watching shit blow up in movies."

"Well, I admit I haven't talked to Kurt much about you, Dave, but I'm not oblivious. I'm pretty sure he'd be your friend either way. He cares about you, and that's not something that a reference to Marc Jacobs is going to cause."

"Yeah, well..."

Kurt holds his breath, listening.

"Whatever. He's a really good guy to even call me a friend after everything I put him through, but that still doesn't mean that a guy like him – any guy like him, or Eyebrows – would ever see a guy like me as..." He sighs so loudly Kurt can hear it.

He shouldn't be listening to this, but Kurt can't bring himself to move away, or make some sound so they at least realize that he's home.

He doesn't want to hear it, really. He does find it remarkable when Dave says something about Christian LaCroix. But he thinks it's just as remarkable when he starts talking about science or that time he said something in Russian. Or every time he smiles the way Kurt never realized he could smile, wide open and bright and happy.

On the other hand...when he thinks about Dave as being a gay kid his own age, he usually thinks about it in terms of having something in common. They share something that not many around them share. Something that helps him understand Dave in some way.

He hasn't once consciously thought...oh, another gay boy. An option, if what he has with Blaine doesn't last.

He isn't sure he wants to think about Dave in those terms. Even thinking about _thinking _about it makes him feel tense and braced, like there's something huge sneaking up behind him that he can't run away from.

There's silence for a while. Carole moves and pots thump and the over door opens and shuts, sending out a waft of something spicy and herby. Lasagna, maybe, she makes insanely good lasagna.

"You...um. Nevermind." Dave talks suddenly, and cuts himself off just as suddenly.

"Out with it, honey."

Dave hesitates. "You know about...what happened. Right? I mean, all of it?"

"I do, Dave." Carole sounds more serious instantly. "Before Burt brought you home he sat me down and made sure I knew what I was agreeing to when I said you could stay here."

"Yeah, I...well." Dave sighs. "That's kind of the other thing, though."

"What is? Here, you mind setting this over on the table?"

There are heavy footsteps. Dave sounds quieter when he talks, like he's facing away from Kurt and Carole both. "It's why I don't figure I'll ever be...you know. Boyfriends with anyone."

Silence falls.

When Carole answers her voice is solemn, and odd. "Keep going, Dave."

"Well? How the hell do I..." Dave sighs. "Even if someone wants a guy like me who looks like I do and everything...nobody wants some freak who's never gonna be able to...do anything. With them."

"You're talking about sex."

Kurt bites his lip. He looks towards the doorway, as if his hidden stare will make Dave answer.

But he doesn't. Silence falls again, hard, and the silence is enough of an answer.

"Dave." Carole moves suddenly, her footsteps quiet compared to Dave's. "Sit down for a minute."

There's the drag of chairs pushing back. Kurt frowns, wondering what's coming.

"I'm going to tell you about something that I've told very few other people in the last two decades. I want you to listen to me, okay? Because it's not something I talk about, but it's something you need to hear."

"Okay," Dave says softly.

Kurt has to push himself away form that door. He has to leave, because it's bad enough to hear Dave talking about doubts that Kurt already knows he has. He doesn't have any right to listen to Carole's secrets.

But before he can get himself into motion, the secret comes out.

"When I was sixteen years old, my boyfriend decided I was ready for sex whether I liked it or not. Back seat of his older brother's car, parked out behind that theatre off 15th that shut down like ten years ago." She laugh faintly, and it's the only sound until she keeps talking. "No didn't mean no, not to him, and nothing I did made him stop. So...I'm not being patronizing when I say that I understand where your mind is right now. Honey...don't look at me like that, okay? It happens. It sounds awful to say that, but...it does. It happens more than most people realize, and even if it happens to naive young girls more often than anyone, it happens to boys, too."

"I didn't..." Dave sounds choked.

Kurt understands that – it's a really good thing no one expects him to talk right now.

"Don't, Dave, just listen to what I'm saying, okay? I won't lie to you, there are women who get raped who can never let another man touch them. They never get over what happened enough. There are women who get angry until anger is all they can feel. There are women who go the opposite direction, deciding that they're ruined somehow and not worth protecting, so they sleep with anyone who looks at them twice."

She pauses, and her smile is back in her voice when she speaks again. "Most women, though, are a lot like me. They deal with their pain, they keep dealing with it more than twenty years later. But they heal. They get married, they have a lot of sex that they enjoy. They have a kid. Later in life they get married again, and realize that there are men out there who are so entirely opposite from the person who hurt them that it makes that old pain heal even more that twenty years of time could heal it."

Kurt blinks his eyes and there's heat running down his face. He wipes at it absently, thinking that he really ought to sit down and just talk to Carole more often.

He wonders if his dad knows about any of this.

"It's possible to be happy, Dave," she goes on. "I promise you. It's possible to touch someone and not think about what happened to you. It's hard sometimes, but it's worth it."

"I can't even picture it," Dave says.

Kurt knows the way tears sound in his voice. He hears it now, and it makes him ache even worse.

"I just...I never let myself think of a guy...touching me, or anything. I always fought against it. And when I stopped fighting it so hard...this happens, and now...now I really can't think of it. When I think...like I told you? About how nobody's ever gonna want to be with a guy like me? Sometimes that's the only thing that makes me feel any better."

"Dave. Sweetie." There's a sound, a chair shuffling. "Come here, honey."

He hears Dave crying, muffled. She's hugging him. She's a mother, she can't be doing anything but hugging him, and he's leaning on her and crying.

Kurt pushes away from the wall and moves on unsteady feet towards the stairs. He wipes at his face, and he doesn't know if his tears are for Carole or Dave or both of them, or if he's just tearing up because the world is so awful that this kind of thing happens often.

* * *

><p>He smiles through dinner – lasagna, and it's so good that he forgets he has no appetite and actually has seconds – and chats with Carole and Dave and his dad when he comes in late. It's nothing strained, nothing unpleasant. Perfectly normal conversation.<p>

He hangs around and watches TV with his dad and Carole, letting Dave have the upstairs in case he needs time to himself. He laughs with his dad and stepmother when Finn walks in and is instantly crushed that she made lasagna when he wasn't there to enjoy it.

He thinks about a lot of things.

He doesn't want to think about Carole and what she told Dave. He isn't supposed to have heard that, he shouldn't know it, so he doesn't let himself think about it. But he thinks about Dave.

A lot. Really, it's become a constant in his life – the sun comes up each day, Rachel is a diva, and Kurt is thinking about Dave.

But there's a new focus to his thoughts now.

He's been exasperated by Dave's narrow-minded Lima mindset towards gay men and what they are and aren't like. He's told himself over and over again that Dave simply doesn't know any better. But obviously living here with Kurt isn't the instant mind-expansion that Kurt assumed it would be.

He needs to get Dave out there. Get him more used to the world of homosexuality. He's got to get Dave comfortable with who he is.

Kurt can't do anything about the attack at McKinley. He can't make that pain go away. But there are other things, smaller things, tearing at Dave. And those things he can help with.

When he goes upstairs to bed (after he knocks on Dave's door and quietly says good night, and smiles at the soft response), he handles his nightly skincare rituals and climbs into his pajamas. Then he grabs his phone and hits a contact as he turns the lights off and goes to his bed.

"_Hey there," _comes the quiet answer into his ear as Kurt settles into bed.

Kurt smiles into the dark. "I need a favor from you that might damage your GPA."

Blaine laughs softly._ "That's intriguing."_

"Can you come down here?"

"_This weekend? I can rearrange my busy schedule." _

"No...tomorrow. I mean...I won't make you miss class tomorrow, but...could you come down afterwards? And stay? You could tell them something, right? You could stay through the weekend, and it's just two days of classes, and..."

"_Kurt. Are you okay?" _

"I'm fine."

Blaine isn't laughing anymore. _"What's going on?" _

Kurt quickly and succinctly outlines his plan, staying vague only on the reason why he suddenly considers it so important get get Dave familiar with the new world he's come out of the closet for.

And in the end, when he's summing up ("-and I just think if he spends some time with you and me together and can see how relationships actually look in the real world, and how it's nothing like those stupid campy couples in gay movies, than he'll get more comfortable with-") Blaine agrees so fast that he doesn't even let Kurt finish.

"_Yes. Absolutely. That's a great idea. He needs to see...like you said, he needs to see a couple together and happy like we are." _

Kurt smiles, feeling oddly bashful. "Really? I was hoping it wasn't a completely absurd idea."

"_Oh, Kurt. You know you're brilliant. I'll come down tomorrow after my last class. I'll just tell the headmaster there's an emergency with my family, or...well, whatever, I'll make it work." _

Kurt relaxes at that. Blaine is good at helping people who are confused – if this was a bad idea Blaine would know it. "Good. Thank you."

"_It's hardly an inconvenience to spend more time with my boyfriend," _Blaine answers cheerfully. _"And it'll be great for you and me, too. Four full days together, that's more than we've had in a long time." _

"You're the best, Blaine." Kurt is already distracted, thinking about where they can go and how they can introduce Dave to more than the narrow side of the gay world that he's been exposed to so far.

He'll be able to get his dad to agree to this, he knows that. There's no more guest room, but Blaine can sleep in Kurt's room (on the floor, they'll tell his dad), and it's just a few days. Besides, it's for Dave. Kurt's dad has been amazing about helping Dave so far. Something like this is a no-brainer.

He's so lost in thought about what they can do – maybe he can talk his dad into letting Kurt miss school Friday, and the three of them could drive to Cincy or somewhere bigger, with an actual gay population – that he almost misses Blaine's chuckle and his quiet words.

"_Go to sleep, Kurt. I love you." _

Kurt echoes the words absently and shuts the phone off, setting it on his bedside table and all but grinning up at the ceiling, excited about what's to come.

* * *

><p>tbc<p> 


	20. Chapter 20

When he knocks on the door he's got a smile on his face. Ready to take on the day and whatever it brings. He's up early – he needs to go by the shop and let his dad know about Blaine before school – and he's in a remarkably good mood, considering.

He knocks, and waits. "Dave? Good morning. I'm going to school early, okay?"

No answer. Usually Dave manages a grunt or a mumble or a few words if he's awake. But sometimes there's silence, too.

He hesitates, but raises his voice. Just to make sure that Dave hears him, even if he's not awake enough to answer. "See you this afternoon. Oh, and keep your phone charged. I'll call during lunch, I need to talk to you about something before tonight."

No answer. He frowns and knocks again lightly.

"Kurt! Stop talking to yourself and get down here."

He blinks and moves to the end of the hall and down the stairs.

Dave is awake, dressed, grinning at Kurt from the half-opened kitchen door. "Dude."

Kurt rolls his eyes, but the sight of Dave and that smile only makes his good mood better. He drops his book bag by the bottom of the stairs and moves to the kitchen door as Dave vanishes back inside.

"I wish I could make just one person understand how much I hate being called..." He stops in the doorway, surprised. "...dude."

Dave goes back to the stove. "You want meat or veggie?"

God, he's getting spoiled. Lasagna last night, and whatever it is that Dave is doing in this kitchen practically lifts Kurt up by the nose and floats him over without his feet touching the ground.

There are eggs out on the counter. A cutting board with scraps of decimated peppers and tomatoes, and the remainders of a package of bacon and a hunk of breakfast sausage. The milk is out on the counter, and there are already a pile of dishes in the sink.

Luckily Kurt's fastidious nature is pretty much confined to himself, his skin and his clothes, so he doesn't mind the mess.

"Meat or veggie what?"

"Omelets. Nothing fancy, Fancy."

Kurt wants to roll his eyes but can't manage it. He's too busy looking at everything. "Oh my God, and I'm up early. I don't even have to rush, I can sit here and _watch _this."

Dave chuckles, moving from the stove to a mixing bowl. "Your dad wasn't so impressed by the view," he says with a grin. "But he ate two, so I figure that counts."

"No offense to your culinary skills," Kurt says as he moves to the table to turn a chair around and sit and watch every last thing that happens here, "but dad has been known to scarf down pizza that's been siting on the counter for two days."

Dave grabs a bottle and flicks droplets into the pan on the stove, which starts sizzling instantly. "Dudes like to eat," he answers, untroubled by Kurt's dad's dietary tastes. "I lied and told him you'd kill me for letting him eat it, he was fucking stoked."

Kurt grins. "But that was a lie, right?"

"Yep. I mean, hell, eggs. Cholesterol, all that. But I only used half the yolks, and I'm using olive oil instead of butter, and I made sure he only got veggies." Dave turns down the stove until the oil is only lightly smoking. He picks up a bowl and starts stirring whatever's in it. "What about you, Fancy? You feeling carnivorous?"

"Normally I'd say I should avoid the calories, but..." Kurt shrugs indulgently. "Bring on the meat."

"Good." Dave turns back to the stove, back to Kurt as he starts chopping and scraping and doing things Kurt can't see. "I cut the bacon kinda thick, I want to make sure it comes out okay. You're just my second test run."

"I'm hurt. Who's more important to cook for than me?"

"Well." Dave shrugs. "You know. Carole's working second shift today, she'll be up in a while and I figured since she cooked like the greatest lasagna I've ever had..." He keeps his back to Kurt, moving back and forth from counter to stove.

Kurt's grin dims a little, but he keeps watching Dave and doesn't allow his mind to replay last night. "Okay, I guess I don't mind coming in second to Carole."

Dave glances back, smiling with a shade of that old bashfulness. "She's kind of awesome. We've been talking a lot when she works second shift or gets home early or whatever, and it's just the two of us here."

"Oh yeah?" Nice and casual, but Kurt is suddenly curious about what else they may have had talks about that he didn't happen to walk in on.

Dave goes back to cooking. "Anyway. What were you talking to my door about a minute ago?"

"Just telling it good morning," Kurt says with a smile. "What brought on the cooking fit?"

"I dunno. You said it's sexy, right? It was time to bring a little sexy up in here." Dave emphasizes his words by dumping a bright yellow puddle of slop from the bowl into the pan. "Hot, yeah?"

Kurt laughs, and his face is pink a little suddenly. "Oh baby."

Dave grins over his shoulder at Kurt, then focuses on his cooking.

He does a lot more work than Kurt would have associated with an omelet, but in less than five minutes he's sliding the contents of the stove onto a plate, and what he sets in front of Kurt is an amazingly huge, fluffy pile of eggs glittering with bright veggies and still-sizzling bacon.

"Holy hell," Kurt says, turning his chair around instantly. His stomach grumbles as he takes a moment to just study this thing. "I don't care if it tastes awful, this is _pretty._"

"You've got weird priorities, Fancy." Dave stretches out a fork to him. "Just eat, and tell me if the bacon's too greasy or anything."

"Hang on." Kurt reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. "I've got to preserve this, for posterity. Or at least Mercedes."

"Are you..." Dave doesn't bother asking, he just snorts his amusement as Kurt snaps a picture of his first meal a la Karofsky.

Kurt slips his phone back into his pocket. "Look at it this way – if your food is any good than I'm going to show everyone as I brag about my unusually talented house-mate. If it's horrible...that picture just might be the evidence the cops need to track down my killer."

"Melodrama. How exciting. It's pretty difficult to kill someone with cooked eggs, Hummel."

Kurt grabs the fork and slips the plate closer, inhaling curiously.

"And don't worry, I was promised by the guy in the trenchcoat down in Adjacent that the cyanide I was buying for flavor is completely non-toxic."

"I knew it!" Kurt pulls his phone out again instantly. "Hang on, I've got to get a picture of you by the stove. Sometimes cops aren't that smart, I need to make the evidence trail clear."

Dave laughs and waves him off, but Kurt manages to snap a crooked picture of him with spatula in hand the moment before Dave aims that spatula his way and forces his grin down into a glower.

"Eat, Hummel. My food needs to be appreciated."

"Okay, okay." Kurt retires his phone again and turns back to his plate.

When Dave refuses to make him a second one because he's running out of eggs and Kurt isn't the one he wants to impress, Kurt threatens him with increasingly hostile acts until Dave is red-faced and grinning so hard that it makes his eyes squint, and as Kurt gives up and runs to his car (because he's not early anymore) he can't help but regret that he didn't get a picture of Dave that way instead.

* * *

><p>He calls his dad on the way to school, since he doesn't have time to stop by thanks to Dave and his insanely good omelet.<p>

Strangely, his dad isn't psyched about his idea.

"_Yeah, I just...do those two even get along? I seem to remember things another way." _

"That was then, dad. A lot has changed. And I want them to get along. Dave's my friend, Blaine's my boyfriend. Besides...it's for Dave. His idea of being gay comes from watching, like, 'Will and Grace' or the gay character in Cameron Diaz movies, and that's just not healthy."

"_I hope this doesn't come out wrong but...you're gay enough on your own, Kurt. You really don't need back-up." _

Kurt laughs at that, mostly because his dad really does sound like he's scared of angering him. "He needs to see a couple, dad. I thought about this, it's a good idea. He needs to see that we're not all musicals and bitchy attitudes. If he sees it he'll be more comfortable with it."

"_You're _not_ all musicals and bitchy attitudes? And don't yell, I'm kidding," _his dad answers. _"I really shouldn't be a party to truancy, kiddo. Why can't he just come down for the weekend?"_

"It's not enough time! Come on, dad, I'm trying to help Dave."

"_Uh huh. I'm not sure I buy you wanting your boyfriend around for Dave's sake, but. We'll give it a try. I just think you need to..." _

"What?" Kurt turns into the McKinley parking lot. "What do I need to do?"

"_Nothing. Look, I've been spending some time the last few days looking into some doctors around here. Got some names from that counselor at your school, the one who looks like one of those Powderpuff cartoons."_

Kurt laughs. "Powerpuff Girls? That's a fairly accurate description of Ms. Pillsbury." His laughter fades as he slips the Escalade into a parking spot towards the back, away from the more crowded spots closer to school. "Is that why you were late last night?"

"_Yep. Been calling a few places, went to see one woman after work yesterday who seems decent. I've got a couple other names to try, but this lady...she seems pretty sharp. I'd feel okay sending Dave to talk to her." _

Kurt puts the car into park and doesn't answer for a long moment.

He knows it's a good idea. Not just good, it's necessary. Dave needs help that Kurt for all his enthusiasm isn't really able to give him.

But he can't help thinking about that first attempt, and how badly it backfired.

"_Kurt? You still there?"_

"Yeah. I just...I don't want to see him upset like that again, dad."

"_I know, kiddo. I can't promise it'll be okay, but believe me when I say I'm asking these people some hard questions. I wouldn't send him to anybody I don't feel good about. Learned that lesson already." _His dad sighs. "_Just...he's gotta be a little tense about going back to school, and if I'm gonna hit him with another therapist it's gonna get even worse. I don't want to add to that by making him less comfortable, you know?" _

Kurt blinks. "You think having Blaine around will make him uncomfortable?"

"_I just think he's fine right now. He's used to us, he's relaxing enough to make breakfast. Speaking of which..." _

Kurt smiles faintly. "Yeah, he made me one."

"_Damn. Kid's got a talent. But...seriously, Kurt. Blaine can come spend some time here, but you keep your eye on Dave. If it does him more harm than good, you send that kid back to his school or I will." _

"I'd be offended by that if I didn't realize you're just being protective of Dave," Kurt says with a small smile. "I don't think it will be bad, dad. So much is different now."

"_I doubt you'd be asking me if you thought it would be bad. I just...hell. I think there's some aspects to this that you're not seeing really clearly, that's all." _

"What do you mean? What aspects"

"_Are you late for school? Go on, Kurt. And remember what I said, okay? Pay attention, make sure this is actually doing Dave some good." _

"Of course! No one's more overprotective of him than I am right now." Kurt smiles. "See you tonight, dad."

He still isn't sure what his dad means about aspects that Kurt isn't seeing, but he tugs his iPhone from the car jack as the call disconnects, and he feels good about this whole thing despite those words.

* * *

><p>"You're my best friend, you know that?"<p>

Kurt nods cheerfully across the lunch table. "Of course."

"I have such love for you. For real. You're so damn cute it pisses me off sometimes, and I love hearing you sing, and you're just as fabulous as any little gay boy could hope to be."

Kurt's eyebrows are rising slowly. "Uh huh..."

Mercedes smiles sweetly. "I want you to keep that in mind, so during the next part of this conversation when I tell you exactly how _stupid _you are, you can put it in context."

"Ahh." Kurt grins and sits back. "There had to be something like that coming. Why am I stupid?"

"You're inviting Blaine, your boyfriend, to your home. Where David Karofsky – David 'gay-rage-and-Kurt-Hummel-obsession' Karofsky, is currently living."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "I'm not sure how many more ways I can say this – he's _different_. Everything is different."

"Not _every_thing," she mutters.

He sighs, but inspiration hits and he pulls out his phone. Smile growing, he flips through his photos and finds a picture like something out of a culinary magazine. "Here!"

She takes the phone with a sigh. "What?" She squints at the picture. "Is this _food_?"

"That was my breakfast! My particularly delicious omelet, made by Dave Karofsky."

"He cooks?" She holds the phone closer, dubious.

"I called you and went on for like an hour about him telling me he cooks!" Kurt heaves a sigh, pushing away his mediocre salad and plank-of-chicken combo. Just thinking about breakfast makes him realize how comparatively disgusting his lunch is. "You never listen to me, child. It's enough to give me a complex."

"Uh huh. If I was any danger to your ego..." She plays with the phone, and suddenly stills. Her mouth drops open. "What in the...?"

Kurt blinks. "If you're cruising my old texts, there's not a thing there that should surprise you."

She turns the phone so he can see what she's looking at.

He smiles uncontrollably – it's the second picture he took that morning. Dave with spatula in hand, and the picture is tilted and off-center but Dave is grinning and waving Kurt off as he tries to leave an evidence trail they can follow when he dies of food poisoning.

Kurt reaches for the phone, but she jerks it back and ducks her head, staring at the picture like it's some alien creature.

"Huh," she says after a minute, straightening but not relinquishing the phone. She eyes Kurt and the phone in turn. "Okay, maybe he's changed." She holds the phone out.

He takes it and looks down at the picture. "The spatula won you over?"

She snorts. "Hardly. Though a man in the kitchen is rare enough to be interesting. No, I just know for a fact that I never would have thought the old Dave Karofsky was _cute. _So either there's something wrong with me, or your boy there is actually different than he was."

Kurt laughs, looking at the picture fondly.

Dave does look cute, despite the bad camera angle. He's giving one of those smiles that makes Kurt want to reach out and stroke the curve of his cheek, and Kurt's forgotten that there was a time not so long ago when no one in all of McKinley ever saw Dave smile.

Besides, the jeans and t-shirt he's wearing are much more flattering without the bulk of a jacket making him look shapeless. And the way he's lofting that spatula kind of puts the curve of a bicep front and center, and he's lost weight since he was hurt but he's still broad and solid and that bicep is thick and muscled and-

"Oh my Jesus who is the _Lord_."

He blinks up at Mercedes. "What?"

She's gaping at him. "Oh, no. No, no, no. Kurt. Honey. Oh Lord, please don't even tell me..."

"What?" He feels his face heating as he taps the picture back into hiding and shuts off his phone.

"Forget what I said," she says quickly. "You're right. Bringing Blaine down here is a fantastic idea. It's perfect, it's just what you need right now."

He frowns, cocking his head to study her. "I'm not doing it for me."

"For him, then. Karofsky. It's great. He'll be healed, you're a genius. Just...yes. Get Blaine down here."

He laughs, but it's uncertain. "I'm starting to think everyone is going loopy, and Dave and I are the only normal ones anymore."

"'Dave and I?' God, you're not even being _subtle." _She shakes her head. "I bet Blaine said yes to coming down here so fast you didn't even get to finish the question."

Kurt's brow furrows. "Okay, start making sense or I'm changing the subject." But he did, didn't he? Blaine. He was so enthusiastic about the idea it was surprising.

He frowns at Mercedes. This is one of those aspects he isn't seeing all the way, he thinks. But whatever it is, he still isn't seeing it now.

* * *

><p>He's got a free period after lunch, so he takes off for the parking lot and climbs into his car, away from listening ears and confusing best friends.<p>

He hits Dave's name on his contact list, and settles back into the driver's seat and shuts his eyes, sighing out the weirdness of lunch.

"_You skipping Albright's class?" _

Kurt smiles instantly. "I like Albright. When she's not teaching us like we're in grade school, anyway. Was Carole's breakfast a success?"

"_I think so. I guess she's gonna rope me into doing the cooking some nights now, that's probably a sign she liked it okay." _

"I know Carole, I doubt she was that subtle."

Dave laughs in his ear, a low rumble. "_There might've been some pretty embarrassing compliments, yeah. But she's nice, dude, she would've said that kind of thing even if it sucked." _

"I'm sure, _bro_," Kurt says dryly.

He's rewarded with another low chuckle. _"Hah, that sounds more natural than I would've thought coming from you. I told you once, you really are kind of a dude." _

Kurt sighs and gives up this particular battle, at least for now. "I guess it's better than 'Ladyparts'."

"_Which is probably the least offensive thing Z's ever called you." _

"Yeah, I don't want to know. I'm just starting to not hate him." Kurt opens his eyes and looks out at the road. He likes parking facing away from the school. It gives him a few last seconds to imagine he's gone somewhere fascinating and wonderful every day, instead of the dead hunk of brick that the people of Lima call a high school.

It's probably time to just go ahead and tell Dave what he's been talking about to everyone else today. It's a good idea, bringing Blaine here, Kurt knows it is. But he's strangely reluctant to say anything.

"_So what's up, Kurt? You told my door this morning you had something to talk to me about?" _

Well, that was a less than subtle cue. Kurt drums his fingers on the steering wheel, feeling almost uncomfortable.

"_Yeah, dramatic pauses are really not as encouraging as you might think." _

"We're going to have a guest. At home. For a few days." It's a blurt, a hiccup of words, and why is he talking around this? It was easy enough with his dad, and Finn in the halls earlier, and Mercedes at lunch. 'Blaine's coming down.' Simple.

"_Oh." _There's a pause. _"Um. Do I need to...find somewhere to crash, or...?"_

"What? Of course not!"

"_Oh," _he says again. _"Well, I'm in your guest room, right? And I can't figure out why the hell else you sound so nervous. I know you didn't invite my dad over, anyway." _

"It's not a guest room," Kurt says firmly. "It's your room. And the morning you cook omelets using that cyanide you mentioned earlier, that's the morning your dad can come to my house as a breakfast guest."

"_Dark, Fancy. Look, whatever you don't want to say, just-"_

"Blaine."

There's a pause. _"Oh."_

"Yeah." Kurt wants to say more, to keep things casual. But it's hard, and _why _is it so hard?

_"Well. You know, whatever. He's your boyfriend, I figured he'd show his greasy head up eventually." _

"That's the spirit," Kurt says dryly. He does relax a little, though, now that it's done with and Dave is calm and okay and everything. "For kicks you might want to practice actually saying his name. It might be less awkward in person than the assorted nicknames you've blessed him with."

_"Eh, I don't really like his name. It's kinda private school, you know? 'Eyebrows' isn't even insulting." _

"I don't think he'll see it that way." Kurt smiles, sitting back and shutting his eyes again, focusing on the voice in his ear.

_"Maybe not. Hey, tell you what - I'll do that abbreviating thing. I mean, you know, my name's David, people call me Dave. So...I'll just call him Bleh."_

Kurt laughs, mostly at the way 'Bleh' falls out of Dave's mouth like he just ate something that tasted bad. "God, this is going to be a long weekend."

_"Christ, the whole weekend? It's cool, Kurt, I won't be a dick to Bleh. I'll stay out of your way or whatever." _

"No! You don't have to do that! You should hang out with us. We could...we could introduce him to _shawarma_!"

_"No." _

That answer is instant, and firm.

Kurt sits up, blinking his eyes open into the sunshine coming into the car. "...oh. Well. Something else, then. I mean..."

_"You want me to go on some Team Rainbow outing? Fine." _Dave doesn't sound like he's smiling anymore. _"But he's not coming into my shit. I'll go with you guys on some fucking mall trip or a day at the god damned spa if you want, but that prick gets to come into _my _life when I say he can. Okay?"_

"Okay," Kurt says quickly. "Okay, seriously. It was just an idea."

_"Yeah, well. Bad idea, Fancy. Look, I've got to..." _

"Yeah, I should get back before the end of the period." Kurt frowns out the window. "See you tonight? Blaine should be coming in sometime after dinner, so..."

_"Looking forward to it," _Dave says, his voice almost cold.

There's a click in Kurt's ear before he can respond, and he pulls his phone away to see that Dave has hung up. He looks at the screen for a moment, and idly pulls up the picture of Dave from that morning, cropping a rough crooked close-up on his grinning face and saving it to Dave's contact info. Not that a grinning Dave seems particularly accurate at the moment, but...

It's got to be this thing, this issue, the aspect Kurt isn't seeing that his dad mentioned. Even Dave gets it, apparently, but Kurt doesn't.

Then again...Kurt's usually a pretty sharp guy, or so he'd like to think. After all, he was uncomfortable talking to Dave about this, wasn't he? He didn't want to call and tell Dave about this. And he's doing it for Dave's own sake.

Isn't he?

His dad said something else, about doubting Kurt's inviting his boyfriend over because of Dave. Is that what it is? Is he being selfish, and maybe feeling guilty about that? Does he want to see Blaine so badly that he's letting himself make up reasons?

No. That doesn't fit, really. Kurt loves Blaine, yeah, but he hasn't been missing him lately. No more or less than usual, anyway. If it's some desire on his part to spend time with his boyfriend, it's buried so deep that Kurt hasn't felt a single conscious urge that way. He hasn't once thought about any of this as a possible means to get his boyfriend closer.

Kurt sighs and traces his fingertip absently around Dave's picture in his contact info.

It's possible that Kurt isn't letting himself figure out what the reason everyone is acting odd about this is. If he's really missing something so plain, it's got to be deliberate.

He just wishes someone would explain to him exactly what it is that he's deliberately ignoring.


	21. Chapter 21

When he gets home from school, his dad and Carole's cars are both still gone, but Finn's beaten him to the house. He walks in hoping to get a chance to talk to Dave before people start showing up and Blaine arrives.

Blaine's keeping him text-updated as he drives; he'll be earlier than Kurt thought.

Kurt walks through the door expecting Finn and the loud sounds of whatever video game he's obsessed with this afternoon. But Finn isn't in sight.

Dave's sitting on the couch. He's still in the jeans and t-shirt he was wearing that morning, but there's isn't much else about him that seems to match the guy Kurt left hours ago, the one grinning and slinging eggs.

Kurt smiles reflexively when Dave looks over, but the smile fades awkwardly. He moves to the couch and drops his book bag on the floor. "Hey."

"Hey."

Kurt sits down on the couch – it's awkward, yeah, but this is _Dave. _He's talked to Dave about things he never would have thought he'd ever talk about. They've been through pain and tears and the kind of despair Kurt can't believe even exists. A little awkwardness isn't about to send him fleeing.

"So." He looks out in the direction Dave's back to staring in, and there's nothing much there but the vague and distorted reflection of them on the black TV screen. "Albright wants us to write about what we did on our summer vacation."

Dave snorts quietly. "She's a couple months late for that particular banality, isn't she?"

"Nah, she says she wants us to reflect on it with the benefit of hindsight. Something about focusing on the expectations we had versus the reality of what actually happened. I'm starting to think she and Brittany have a lot in common, and maybe these assignments are coming from her cats." Kurt gestures over at his book bag. "Don't worry, I brought you plenty of Physics and Calculus to help you choke Albright down easier."

"Thanks."

Kurt smiles over at him, but Dave's profile stays neutral and unmoving.

Kurt sighs. "Okay, seriously. If this is about Blaine...you can't possibly hate him this much. You've only met him like twice. And yeah, they were pretty bad as meetings go, but...things are different now. For all of us."

Dave glances back behind him towards the stairs going up to the second floor. "Finn!" he shouts.

There are footsteps overhead, a door opening. "Five more minutes, dude! Rachel's having a Facebook meltdown." Door slams, footsteps thunder.

Dave sighs, but as he straightens he does actually look at Kurt. "Why's he coming here?"

"Blaine?" Kurt forgets about Finn instantly. "He's my boyfriend."

"So he's skipping school out of the blue to come hang out?" Dave faces the TV again, tense. "You asked him to come."

"Yeah."

Dave's eyebrows lift, but he stays silent.

Kurt knows what he wants, but...just like when he called Dave earlier, there isn't an easy version of this answer. Not when Dave's the one he's talking to.

"I think he can help," he says finally. "He's been a lot of help to me, he can help you, too."

"You're helping me." Dave stares at the TV with so much focus Kurt wants to glance over and make sure it's still shut off.

"I can't be the only one," Kurt says, and that instant answer is so much more honest than what he told his dad or Mercedes that he's almost surprised at himself. "I can't be the only person who can help, Dave. I can't handle it. I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm petrified of screwing it up and making things worse."

Dave flinches a little. "Your dad set me up with some new doctor after school on Monday."

"That's good. I'll take you, I'll be there for that." Kurt smiles hesitantly. "If this doctor is any good, then...yeah, I might feel a little bit better about everything. But."

Dave nods once, short. "But that's not the only reason you want him here."

Kurt looks away from his clenched jaw and tightly controlled profile. "Everything in my life right now revolves around you. I want something that's mine again."

Another surprise, but...maybe not. Maybe Kurt just hasn't admitted it to himself, but hearing himself say those words doesn't shock him. He is, after all, a rather self-obsessed teenage boy. He's done a lot for Dave, he's grown up a lot more than he wanted to in the last month or so.

He misses his old life. He misses the time Before, when he was optimistic about the world and thought that slushies and getting elected Prom Queen were the limits of people's cruelty. He doesn't know why everyone else seems to think Blaine coming is a bad idea, but he has reasons. And they're good ones, for him.

His dad is right – if Blaine ends up doing Dave more harm than good, Kurt will send him back up to Westerville. But if he simply doesn't do Dave any good? He'll still be good for Kurt.

So much has changed in the last few weeks. The people in his life have been stacked in the wrong order somehow. Re-ranked, in order of their importance to him. No one is where they should be.

Blaine should be right where he was before Dave was hurt. His relationship with Kurt hasn't changed, he should still be as prominent in Kurt's mind as he used to be. He should be the one Kurt wants to call every night and text during school. He's the one Kurt should instantly think about when something funny happens and Kurt wants to share it with someone.

That's the proper order of things. But it isn't how things have happened lately. Blaine isn't the first person Kurt thinks about anymore.

Kurt has to set that right. Or...he has to at least be able to figure out why things have changed so much, and why Kurt didn't notice it while it was happening. He needs to know if, like everything else lately, it's all because of Dave and what happened.

Dave stands up, not bothering to respond to Kurt's last words.

Kurt reaches out instantly, catching him by the wrist. "Don't be mad about this. Please. I told you...I wouldn't change where I am now. I want to be here for you, I just..."

Dave looks over Kurt's head towards the stairs. "Come on, Kurt, how the hell could I be mad at something like that?"

"So why are you walking away?"

"Because. I can't fucking argue with it. And I can't do anything about it. Finn!"

Kurt jumps at the shout, releasing Dave's arm unconsciously.

Finn's door slams after a moment and he thunders down the stairs. "Sorry! Sorry, dude. One of Rachel's dads told her her face looked puffy, so she's threatening...I dunno, either suicide or anorexia. Though I'm pretty sure she's kidding. Hard to tell when she flips out like this." He's pulling keys out of his pocket as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. "You ready? Hey, Kurt."

"Yeah." Dave strides to the door fast and takes off without a look back at Kurt.

"Wait." Kurt gets to his feet fast. "Hey. Finn, where are you guys going?"

Finn stops in the doorway and shrugs. "I'm just taking him by his dad's place, guess he left his car there. Says he's got some stuff to do tonight, didn't want to bug anyone for a ride."

Kurt's throat works. "He's not going to be here tonight?"

Another shrug. "I dunno, dude. You didn't ask him?" He's out the door before Kurt can answer.

Kurt stands there for a moment, unsure how to react to...to anything that's happened since he got home, really.

* * *

><p>When Finn shows up for dinner alone and tells them casually that Dave says not to save him anything, Burt and Carole both shoot Kurt unreadable looks before going on with dinner.<p>

By the time the doorbell rings, Kurt's so ready to get away from that table he all but leaps to his feet and blurts some chunk of words that amounts to 'I'll get it, you guys stay where you are, and may I be excused from dinner?' but in about a half a second rush of syllables.

And then he opens the door and Blaine is there, smiling, instantly reaching out to hug him. It's maybe not a good sign that Kurt isn't sure if he's happier to see Blaine or to just get a hug in with someone.

He hauls Blaine upstairs without a word to anyone – he can say hi to Kurt's family later.

Blaine goes along willingly, turning raised eyebrows and a smile on Kurt once the door has shut, closing them safely in Kurt's bedroom. "Hi there."

Kurt grins back. "Hi."

"I guess you missed me."

He goes to Blaine, seals him in another hug. "It's been a strange day. Sorry."

Blaine wraps him up instantly, and Kurt shuts his eyes to enjoy the familiarity of his boyfriend. The starch in his clothes, the faint touches of cologne. The expensive fruity tang of that hair gel he pays seventy dollars a jar for. It feels right, and something inside of him relaxes, something he didn't even realize was tense.

He pulls back after a moment, satisfied.

"Hey..." Blaine's warm smile fades, his brow furrows. "What's going on? I guess 'strange day' isn't a good thing?"

"Not really." He grabs Blaine's hand and steers him over to Kurt's bed, and they sit.

It's easy, it's normal. It's what Kurt knows. Blaine and this casual physicality. If Kurt feels disconnected from it, it's only because he hasn't had Blaine around in so long. That's all.

"So? Tell me. What's wrong?"

Kurt meets his boyfriend's caring eyes and he wants to avoid answering. He wants to keep this about him and Blaine for a while longer.

But he can't. Kurt can't let himself use his own mood as a reason to avoid his bigger problems.

"Dave's gone," he says, pressing the words out with some difficulty, since Dave is tension, and Blaine is calmness.

Blaine's warm smile fades. "Gone?"

"Just...for a while. Errands, or something. He didn't even tell me..." Kurt sighs, looking down at his lap, away from Blaine's eyes. "He's mad about this. You."

Blaine doesn't seem surprised. "He doesn't know me like you do. I'm sure he's convinced I can't do him any good being here."

"Probably." Kurt smiles wryly. "It's not as if the two of you have the best history."

"That might be a good thing," Blaine answers, voice light and cheerful. "All he has to do is not grab me or shove me, and it will be the most successful run-in the two of us have ever had."

Kurt laughs, but without much real humor. "He isn't that person anymore." It feels strange to talk about Dave in this context. Strange to talk about him with Blaine. This isn't like talking about him over the phone or sitting in a diner an hour's drive from here. His two worlds are colliding, and maybe that would be jarring even if it was completely calm and easy.

"So what are your plans for the next few days?" Blaine asks suddenly, pulling Kurt out of his thoughts. "How are we going to help someone like David Karofsky feel more at home in our world?"

Kurt shrugs. "I have a few ideas. Silly things, the mall and Breadstix and...you know, just being out in public, so he can get used to the idea that no one's going to throw stones. Otherwise...we can just hang out here. Be ourselves, let him see that we're the same as any normal couple." He looks over, because Blaine is smarter about these sorts of things than Kurt is. "Does that sound remarkably lame? I'm open to suggestions, seriously."

Blaine reaches out and takes his hand again smoothly. "It sounds perfect. It would be a bit much to hit him with a Pride Parade or a night out at a gay bar. We should look into whether there's a meeting around the city anywhere this weekend – maybe another school nearby has a GSA. I know Lima doesn't have a PFLAG chapter, but somewhere within driving distance might."

Kurt smiles at that. He hadn't thought about meetings. It might still be a bit much for Dave, but as long as he doesn't have to talk, he'd probably be okay with it.

"You think it's too soon to try to find him a boyfriend?"

Kurt blinks. His smile fades. "What?"

Blaine shrugs. "It's probably the most effective way to get someone comfortable with their sexuality," he says with a small smile. "If you want to make the drive all the way up to Westerville, I know a couple of boys who seem to like that type."

Kurt laughs. It feels strange. "What's 'that type'?"

"Well, you know. Physically, that type. The only other gay Warblers are taken, but I know for a fact that my dorm mate last year is still single, and judging from the size of his Vin Diesel film collection I'd say he'd be more than happy to give Karofsky a try."

Kurt can picture Blaine's room mate from last year. A slender, tall boy with orange hair and freckles, but gorgeous bright blue eyes.

Dana. That's his name. He's an idiot. He laughs like something's stuck in his throat. Kurt has to smirk at that even as he shakes his head.

"Too soon. Way too soon."

Dave would never get past his name being Dana. He's also way too smart for someone who wears out Vin Diesel movies. And too funny to have to put up with someone who laughs like he's choking.

"No," he says again. "No way. Bad idea. Just...way too soon."

Blaine's eyebrows are hiked when Kurt focuses on him again. "Just an idea," he says mildly.

"Forget it. I don't know if Dave's got a type yet, but Dana?"

"I get the point, Kurt."

Kurt shoots Blaine a grin, still amused.

Blaine seems less enthusiastic suddenly. He tightens his grip on Kurt's hand and his smile seems a little wan. "You know? We've got plenty of time to think about Karofsky. This is the first time I've had you all to myself in a while. We should take a little time to enjoy it, hmm?"

Kurt returns his smile easily. "What did you have in mind?" he asks, eyes wide and innocent.

Blaine chuckles softly and leans in, slipping his hand to curl around Kurt's shoulder.

* * *

><p>And it's nice. It is. Blaine is a great kisser, and Kurt's not had a chance to experience that enough lately. It feels a little less comfortable in his own bedroom with his family downstairs than it did back at Dalton, but even with a little bit of awkwardness there's still not much to dislike about making out with his boyfriend.<p>

It's nice, too, because it relaxes Kurt a little bit about the whole stacking order of people in his life. With Blaine here, smiling at him and touching his arm so gently and kissing him until his mouth feels swollen, it's hard to imagine that anyone could ever become more important to Kurt than he is.

Family, then boyfriend, then friends. That's how it ought to go. And for a while up in Kurt's bedroom, that's exactly how it feels.

But the moment Kurt hears a thump from downstairs, his mind acts without his consent. Instantly his focus is away from that bedroom, listening carefully, waiting for...

..._that_, the sound of heavy footsteps plodding up the stairs.

He drops his hands from Blaine's shirt and jumps to his feet. "Finally!" And until that moment he doesn't realize just how worried he's been.

Kurt all but runs over to his door, tugging it open to move out into the hall, to meet Dave on his way up.

Dave appears a moment later, wary, obviously having heard him moving around up there. He eyes Kurt as he turns in from the stairs.

Kurt closes the distance between them fast, and aims a nice hard punch square at Dave's arm. "I was _worried _about you!"

Dave seems surprised by that greeting, but his tense shoulders relax and he flashes a tight, uncertain smile in return. "Sorry. I figured Finn would fill you in."

"You think Finn pays any attention to anything? All I know is I worry when I can't keep track of you every waking moment."

"Christ, Fancy." Dave's grin softens, relaxes. "Way to make a guy paranoid. If you want the details, you fucking stalker, I had to get my truck. And a few other things I left." He gestures at himself, at this lumpy, oversized brown-and-a-different-brown flannel shirt he's wearing that he didn't leave the house in. "I made sure to grab this one 'cause I knew you'd love it."

"I do love it, actually," Kurt answers. "In fact, next time we go fishin down at the crick I'm fixin tuh borruh it."

"Shut up," Dave says through his rumble of a laugh. "Judgmental little princess."

Kurt is so relieved, both that Dave is now home and that he's laughing with Kurt again, that he grabs him by a broad arm, willingly touching that redneck nightmare of a shirt, and steers him down the hall towards his door. "I've decided that I really don't like it when you're ticked off at me."

"And here I thought you give me so much shit because you're _trying_ for ticked off." Dave slows suddenly and looks over at him. "I just...needed some space. You know?"

"No. But I can imagine." Kurt meets his eyes for a moment, and the last of his tension from earlier seeps away. "It's okay. Just remember what I said. Even when I'm scared of all of this, I still don't want to be anywhere but right here."

"Yeah." Dave nods, his cheeks pinking a little. "I'm kinda starting to believe it when you say shit like that."

Kurt's bedroom door swings open.

Kurt sees Dave's reaction first: the return of all his tension, the disappearance of his smile.

He looks over at Blaine a second later, and his own grin goes a little crooked. He's oddly aware, suddenly, that they're standing a bit close and that Kurt's arm is still hooked around Dave's, which might look a little bit possessive.

He doesn't move, because he's not doing anything strange or wrong or anything. But he's _really_ aware of it.

He smiles before anyone can say anything. "Okay! Time for introductions! Dave, this is my boyfriend, Blaine. Blaine, this is my friend Dave." He glances at Blaine, less than subtle. "My good friend, Dave. And I really hope you two hit it off, because if things are strained and awkward it would make my life less pleasant. Which is something I can't stand. Okay?"

Blaine smiles, but it's small and automatic. He looks from Kurt to Dave, but steps out into the hall and stretches out his hand, playing along. "Nice to meet you, Dave. For the very first time ever."

"Yeah." Dave sends a somewhat more wry look at Kurt, but shakes Blaine's outstretched hand quickly. "Blaine, huh?"

Kurt sees some little flash of amusement in his eyes, and wonders if he's having to fight against calling him 'Bleh', and despite himself he has to fight back a grin. "Good boys. No reason at all why we can't all be friends."

"Of course not," Blaine agrees. "At least Dave doesn't look like he's particularly prone to violent outbursts. That's a good start."

Kurt's smile fades a little. He sends Blaine a warning look.

"Outbursts? Nah, not as long as nobody's shouting about my private shit in the middle of my school. Or trying to bitch at me for, like, _gaying_ the wrong way or something. That's nothing a guy like you would do, huh, Blaine?"

Blaine smiles at that, tight.

Kurt clears his throat. "Okay. That was a form of polite. Good enough for the first day." He points back to his door. "Blaine, retreat to your corner. I'll be in to lecture you in a minute."

Blaine studies him, then sends another look at Dave, but he steps back and slips into the bedroom without a word.

Kurt sighs. "Dave, come on, you get your lecture first."

Dave shoots him a grin but leads Kurt into his own little bedroom. He fishes a set of keys out of his pocket and tosses them over on the bedside table. "He started it."

"Oh my god, I am not going to grade school with you." Kurt pushes the door shut and frowns at Dave, but he can't really hold on to it. "Are we...really, are we okay?"

Dave shrugs, his grin fading. He drops to sit on the bed, heavy and graceless as usual. "We're not bad. I don't know." He nods towards the door. "If you're really thinking Dan Quayle and I are gonna become pals, you're not gonna come out of the next few days happy."

"I can handle edged politeness," Kurt concedes. "But it's not what I'm going for. If you gave each other half a chance..." He sighs. "I mean, you can't hate _Blaine_ – he's practically me, and you _adore_ me, shut up, you totally do. He can't hate you either, because he's practically me and I adore you so much. Right?"

Dave smiles faintly. "Whoever it was who told you that you and Dapper Dan in there are practically the same person...you ought to smack them around. Or send them my way so I can do it."

Kurt laughs, moving to the bed to sit, hiking one knee up to face Dave. "Everybody says it. He's more like me than anyone else I've ever met."

Dave sends him a dubious look. "Fancy. He's prep school, and you're you. You've got this weird-ass sense of style, sure, but that prim and proper prep shit ain't it. If he wasn't queer as a double rainbow he'd practically be a Young Republican, at least compared to you. Probably got a fucking 401k started already."

Kurt almost chokes at that. "Now you're just being malicious. You obviously don't know him, okay? Which is what we're going to fix the next few days."

"Whatever. It's your freak show, dude, I'm just a guest-star." Dave waves his hand towards the door. "Get lost, go lecture the Brooks Brothers mannequin. I'm wiped out."

Kurt rolls his eyes but stands. "Fine." But he pauses with his hand on the doorknob, looking back at Dave more seriously. "Are you really okay? Taking off like that..."

"Sorry." Dave shrugs, stretching his legs out and toeing off his worn sneakers. "Guess I was just getting used to...you know. This, my life now. Didn't think I'd take it so hard when something changed. Even for a few days."

"Neither did I," Kurt admits. "If I didn't think it would help..."

"I know. That's the irritating thing about you, Fancy. You really think this shit will help."

Kurt smiles automatically, but Dave's grin is a little uneven and Kurt isn't sure of what that means. Is it a joke or not? Is he really irritated at Kurt for this idea? Or maybe just mad that he can't get irritated, since he knows Kurt means well? Or...?

"You fret louder than anyone I ever met, Hummel." Dave stands up with a grin. "Unless you wanna stay for a peepshow, get out so I can go to fucking bed." He peels off that ridiculous flannel shirt and tosses it into a corner of the floor, leaving him in his t-shirt from that morning.

Kurt's face heats, but at least that quells his fretting. "Your cruelty towards your clothes should be enough to put a stop to our friendship. I want you to know that I'm bigger than that, though. Also...you have really nice arms. It's kind of unfair to cover them up like you do all the time."

Okay, yeah, his face has got to be red by now. And why does he _talk_? Honestly, he ought to have some internal mute button by now.

He can't even look at Dave. He pulls the door open. "Good night, Dave."

"...night, Fancy."

No point in wondering why he said something about Dave's _arms _of all things. No point letting himself wonder about why Dave's last words sounded so hushed. God, if he's really confused lately about the people in his life and who's become more prominent in his thoughts...he isn't doing himself any favors. He's not making things any clearer.

He moves to his bedroom door and hesitates for a moment, glancing back at Dave's door and wondering if it's a bad sign that he feels a little guilty.

When he moves into his room it's with the widest grin he can push onto his face. "You're lucky I'm not in the mood to bitch at you about that passive-aggressive introduction just now."

Blaine looks up from his phone. "He started it."

* * *

><p>Kurt's dad stands over them and watches as they assemble a pallet on the floor for Blaine to sleep on. And when he's satisfied he walks out the door, leaving it wide open behind him, with a 'good night, boys' and a 'touch that door and Blaine sleeps downstairs on the couch'.<p>

Kurt loves his dad, but honestly.

Still, Blaine settles in without complaint, and for a while he and Kurt talk in the darkness, quiet, about random things that are happening at Dalton and McKinley, and how Mercedes is doing, and Blaine's plans for Sectionals. Little things that they would normally text about around this time of night.

If Kurt mentions Dave once or twice, it's no real surprise. Kurt _is _worried about him, after all. He smiled and laughed and made fun of Blaine as if everything was fine, but one thing Kurt has learned about Dave is that everything being fine one moment means absolutely nothing for the moment coming after it.

He falls asleep halfway through a comment about the levels of cliché that would be required to do a Grease medley at any competition ever, anywhere.

He wakes up to the slamming of a door and the harsh sound of gagging.

It's louder with the door open.

Kurt pushes out of bed on instinct – he's used to this by now, and that's really depressing to realize. He even keeps a glass of water on the table by his bed so he doesn't have to go all the way downstairs. He picks up the water and steps around Blaine as he snores, and moves out into the hallway.

Dave emerges after a few minutes, pale and shaking and drawn. He reaches for the glass – they're _both _used to this – and follows when Kurt leads the way back to Dave's room.

Dave only takes a sip of the water before he hands it back. "Didn't eat dinner," he explains, his throat scraped-sounding. "The bright side being...nothing to puke up."

Kurt smiles vaguely as Dave climbs back into bed. He sits down on the edge of the mattress, tugging the sheets around him absently. "It's been a couple of days since last time, at least."

"Yeah." Dave doesn't sound glad about that. "I almost thought..."

Kurt sighs. "I'm no therapist, but I think there's a while to go before they stop entirely."

Dave mumbles a curse under his breath, but nods. He turns on his side, facing Kurt but not looking up at him. "I just want to _sleep_, Kurt. Jesus."

"You will." Kurt reaches out, smoothing sweat-limp hair off of Dave's forehead. "You'll fall asleep now and you'll sleep until morning. And next time you have another dream...the same thing will happen."

Dave's eyes are already shutting, heavy. He mumbles something against his pillow, something that sounds like an apology.

Kurt likes to stay until he's completely asleep. Dave's tried faking it a few times, and the next day he's usually exhausted. If he falls asleep with Kurt there, he sleeps. If not, he doesn't.

Kurt hums quietly, absently, stroking through Dave's hair. It helps him more than Dave, maybe, but he likes the gesture. He likes how soothing it feels.

After a few minutes he figures it's safe, and he pulls his hand back and falls silent, watching.

Dave's eyes open, heavy and bloodshot. They're both used to this routine, after all. Dave knows if Kurt leaves he'll never get to sleep on his own.

Kurt smiles sadly and takes up his humming again.

It's the tension, he thinks. It's everything coming up. A weekend with Blaine, school on Monday, a meeting with a new therapist. Kurt should have expected it, really. There's too much going on.

He should talk to Blaine in the morning – he didn't think about what they would do while Kurt's in school. This is a big house, but Dave and Blaine should maybe not be alone in it together for eight solid hours.

Dave's eyes close, and he sinks into the pillow.

Kurt smiles and reaches out, smoothing his fingers up and down his arm, light and gentle. He starts singing quietly, under his breath, a sweet and ridiculously corny song from one of Webber's truly horrible musicals.

"_Whistle down the wind, let your voices carry_

_Drown out all the rain, light a patch of darkness treacherous and scary_

_Howl at the stars, whisper when you're sleeping_

_I'll be there to hold you, I'll be there to stop the chills and all the weeping_

_Make it clear and strong, so the whole night long_

_Every signal that you send until the very end,_

_I will not abandon you, my precious friend..."_

He trails off after a while, smiling to think of the kind of expression Dave would be staring at him with if he were awake and hearing those lyrics. No one is quite so good at being truly horrible as Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Whistle Down the Wind is a good test of consciousness on its own, but he lingers for another quiet minute, making sure. When he finally slides off the bed and moves quietly to the door, Dave doesn't stir.

In his bedroom Blaine is sitting up on his pallet, leaning his back against Kurt's bed. He squints up at Kurt as he comes in, until Kurt flips off the hallway light and they're just black blurs in the darkness again. Kurt moves around Blaine and sits on his bed. Blaine shifts, laying back on the floor.

When he speaks maybe it's the darkness making Blaine sound so hushed. "Does that happen often?"

"Every night," Kurt says, pulling up his covers tight around his shoulders and staring out into the darkness. "Well...it's a little better now than it was."

There's silence for a minute. Blaine sighs a bit and shifts on the floor, and just when it seems he's settled back to sleep he speaks again softly.

"I'll try harder tomorrow."

Kurt almost smiles.


	22. Chapter 22

Mercedes already sounds like she's braced to start laughing. _"Well? You survived so far, huh?"_

Blaine is in the shower, so Kurt can answer openly. He sighs from his dramatic pose on his bed, arm flung over his head. "So far, but today is the real test."

"_Yeah? Not last night? Didn't you guys get the house all to yourselves? Weren't you petrified to leave school yesterday?" _

Kurt humphs at the memory. Of course he was petrified. After the mess of Thursday night and Blaine and Dave's two-minute run-in, he wasn't sure he would make it through spending all Friday evening with them.

Well, okay, he was pretty sure he would. But if he can't complain incessantly to his best friend, then what's the point of a best friend anyway?

"_So? After Preppy Spice picked you up, what happened?"_

"Blaine." Kurt has to fight back a smile. "I mean, it's one syllable. _Blaaaaine. _Why can no one call the poor boy by his name?"

"_I'm sure he makes you call his name plenty." _

Kurt's nose wrinkles. "Don't make sex jokes when I'm angsting."

"_Mmm. Okay, start angsting and I'll stop. I want details."_

"It's boring, really. Blaine and I decided it was for the best if he went out for a day of not-being-alone-in-a-house-with-Dave, he dropped me off and picked me up and we came home."

"_You just wasted like fifty words getting to the only part I'm interested in." _

Kurt grins. "It wasn't a big deal. I think spending the day being terrified made it seem anti-climactic. Dad and Carole had date night, Finn was out with Rachel-"

"_Quinn. That's what I heard, anyway." _

Kurt rolls his eyes. Breeders. "So we just hung out. We ordered pizza from this little mom-and-dad place Dave knew about, we found a couple movies we all actually agreed on-"

"_So no Fosse?"_

"You want me to tell this, or not?" After she's quiet for the requisite few seconds required by that, Kurt goes on. "We let Dave put us through _RED_, and we forced him through _Wall-E_. It was actually pretty fun. Besides, on the one hand you get Bruce Willis – and remind me to tell you _who _apparently is nursing a crush on that man – and Karl Urban. And on the other hand...Wall-E."

"_Good choice, thought I'm surprised there are people who haven't seen it. I seem to remember you dragging me to the theater on three separate occasions." _

Kurt smiles. "Dave liked it. More than I thought he would." Not that it was easy to tell. One thing movies are good for is hiding strained silences, and they didn't exactly sit around for a Q&A afterwards.

"_I could see that. Dirty, clunky robot suddenly in the presence of pretty, sparkling snotty robots who hate him. Sure." _

"Okay, we are not psychoanalyzing Pixar films, Mercedes. People love Wall-E because it's a beautiful story. And Blaine and I are not snotty robots."

"_Whatever. This is boring. What else happened?" _

"That's it. Dave went to bed, Blaine and I watched...um. _RED_. Again. We may have decided that if Karl Urban wants Blaine, I'll let him go without a fight."

She laughs. _"What about you? Kurt don't get no love?" _

"I get Bruce. Even if I have to fight Azimio for him."

"_Azimio Adams? Boy, you are keeping some strange company lately. Wait...is Azimio...?"_

"Apparently liking Bruce Willis doesn't make you gay," Kurt reports with a grin. "Luckily for me, it doesn't make you straight either."

Another laugh. _"I was hoping for some drama over here, Kurt. I thought there'd at least be attempted murder by now." _

"Nope. They're on their best, awkward, polite behavior."

"_And what's going on today that's making you angst?"_

"Well!" Kurt sits up, listening for any sounds of the shower slowing. "I _wanted _to get Dave over to the mall to see if he'd play dress-up for me. You have no idea how much I want to see him in a pair of jeans that fit, or a shirt that's neither _polo _nor _t. _Believe it or not, Blaine said no to that idea."

"_I believe it."_

Kurt sighs, folding his legs under him on the bed. He can't hear Dave moving around yet, but it's still pretty early. He and Blaine are early risers. Dave seems more like someone who hibernates until forced out of it by some outside interruption.

"No mall, no Macys. Not yet, anyway. I've never been allowed to dress someone who wasn't either me or a girl. I'm not giving up so easily. And boy needs help."

"_Boy needs help," _she agrees.

"So we're going bowling instead."

"_Holy hetero!"_

He laughs. "Right? But between driving in to Cincy to see Les Mis or sitting here in the living room watching the Bruins game, it seemed like a good compromise. I think so, anyway, I still need to Wiki and find out what exactly a 'bruin' is. Anyway, I've never told you this in all the time I've known you, and I apologize for that, but: I have mad bowling skills. I have skills that require a z to properly communicate. _Skillz._"

"_Okay, playa, you got skillz. But don't you also have a severe allergic reaction to wearing other people's non-designer shoes?"_

"That's where my end of the compromise comes in. I tried to explain to them that it was a problem, but apparently 'for me to have everything that will make me happy, you two really need to give up some things' isn't a valid argument. Anyway, that's the plan. Going out to play a start-quote end-quote 'sport' that will require a lot of time sitting there and watching each other, and then...dinner."

"_Sounds like a date. I hope your third wheel doesn't mind." _

He laughs. "It's Lima, our options are limited. But don't worry, I plan to keep my focus on Dave. I'm just...it's a lot of time, you know? And that's what I want. I want us all to spend time together, to get Dave used to things. But..."

"_It's easier to plan it than do it. I heard that." _She falls silent for a moment. "_Kurt. Sweetie. You know I love you, right?" _

His smile fades. He sighs. "Okay, I'm braced. What?"

"_It doesn't just sound like a date because you're going to dinner after bowling. _You_ make it sound like a date. Maybe I'm reading too much into things here, but...it's a little weird to hear you talk about Blaine and Karofsky both in the same tone of voice." _

He frowns. "What's wrong with my tone of voice?"

"_Would you call yourself subtle, Kurt? That's rhetorical, we both know the answer. I'm saying...you've always been so adorable about Blaine, talking about him with that little starry tone in your voice, sighing and cooing and being generally intolerable. Right?" _

"That's probably a fair assessment."

"_Uh huh. Well..."_

He laughs suddenly, and just like clockwork there's heat spreading up his face. "I do _not _talk about Dave that way!"

"_Sure. Okay. Maybe you do, maybe you just don't do it so much with Blaine anymore. Point is..." _She sighs. _"Point is, you need to hold on to Blaine. You know? That boy is really, really good for you. I like him. I like you two together. He's your Prince Charming, and you deserve him." _

Kurt smiles, but after just a moment it fades. "You know, dad asked me the other day..." He shakes his head. "I don't know why everyone's so worried about Blaine and me all of the sudden."

"_No offense, baby, but you are embarrassingly dumb about some things." _

The shower stopped without Kurt noticing, and it must have happened some minutes ago because when Blaine comes in he's fully gelled and styled and dressed to impress.

Kurt smiles his greeting, though half his focus is on the phone. "You don't have to be insulting, Mercedes."

Blaine grins when he hears her name. He moves to Kurt's desk and sits down, looking at-ease enough that some of Kurt's fears for the day fade back a bit.

"_You know...I really do love you, Kurt, but sometimes I can't even believe you're as dumb as you act. Sometimes I think you know exactly what's going on here, and you're playing this naïve role, and...if I really believed that I'd be pretty angry at you." _

Kurt makes a face at the phone, giving a dramatic eyeroll towards Blaine and one of those she-never-stops-talking flaps of his hand. Hopefully that hides the less-casual tone in his voice when he answers her.

"No offense, girl, but if you would just stop talking around things and tell me what you_ think _is going on, we'd be a lot farther along in this conversation."

"_Yeah, no. You would shoot this messenger, honey. But when this thing blows up in your face you give me a call, and I'll talk about what's going on as clearly as you want." _

He can't say more, not with Blaine right there, but his more clipped tone is suddenly bordering on sincerely annoyed. "I've got to go, Blaine's here."

"_Okay. Sorry, Kurt. But you had better call the _hell_ out of me tonight when you get home." _

After she's hung up Kurt sits there toying with his phone for a long moment. It's starting to get a little old, this feeling like he's on the first chapter of a novel everyone else has finished. Kurt isn't naïve, not really. Not about most things. He's not very learned about things like...relationships, for instance, because he's still in his first and feeling his way through that. But he knows a lot about the world.

Is it willful, that he's ignoring this giant obvious _thing _Mercedes is talking about? And is her thing the same as his dad's thing? Is it about Blaine? Or Dave? Or Kurt himself?

It's cruel, these constant insinuations and hints, the little laughs and rolling eyes and Kurt-you're-just-so-dumb comments.

This isn't a fun situation that he's in. This, the thing his life is now, it's serious. It's precarious. He's trying to hold himself together, he's trying even harder to keep Dave from falling apart. If there's something big, something important, that he isn't seeing...he _needs _to see it. He can't afford to be kept in the dark about something that might affect Dave, not when Dave is still so unstable.

He sighs and shuts his phone off, looking up at Blaine. "I've figured out why we like boys," he says with a smile he doesn't really feel. "Girls are even more confusing than boys are."

"Mmm." Blaine nods solemnly. "Also, they don't have hair in the right weird places."

Kurt rolls his eyes, but his smile feels a little more genuine then. "Okay, I'd better go wake up the sleeping giant." He moves past Blaine to the door, glancing back with a grin. "You're _sure _you don't want to have a make-over day? There's a Neiman Marcus outlet store only five tiny hours drive from here. We could window-shop some fabulous eight-thousand dollar lapel pins, make Dave model some Hugo Boss for us? I bet he's got actual _shoulders_ somewhere under those nightmare shirts of his."

Blaine rolls his eyes, waving Kurt on. "Bowling, Kurt. I'd rather see you in neon pink shoes than Dave or his rumored 'shoulders'."

Kurt smiles and pushes out the door.

* * *

><p>Dave's stuffing a thin wallet in his pocket as he comes down the stairs. He's got a shapeless hump of brown slung over his shoulder, and before Kurt can even take in what Dave is wearing he tosses that brown disaster out at Kurt.<p>

"Since you like it _so much_," he says as Kurt gets a face full of flannel. "Bowling's almost as redneck as fishing, isn't it?"

Kurt laughs as he manages to escape the shirt. He pinches the collar in two fingers and holds it out in front of him. "_Mais _non," he answers emphatically. "But next time I tailgate some Nascar game, me and this shirt are so on."

"Aww, come on. We could match." Dave grins, and he's wearing flannel himself (of course) but it's at least a respectable red-and-white, and an actual discernible _shape_.

And the white t-shirt under it seems to fit well enough. Kurt studies him, and it's actually not bad. The jeans are still ridiculous and baggy, but all in all it's nothing Kurt can judge too harshly.

He smiles approvingly, but swings his arm straight out in front of him as if he's holding a grenade that's ready to explode. "We'll match when I get you into some Alexander McQueen, Knuckles. The idea is to elevate the less fortunate, not to hide an already stylish light under a flannel bushel." He gestures back at Blaine, who's on the couch staring with some understandable horror at the flannel shirt Kurt is dangling. "Blaine and I match acceptably. Study us and learn."

Dave rolls his eyes, barely glancing over at Blaine. "But I'm the only one of us that's gonna fit in at a fucking bowling alley." He moves in and grabs the shirt Kurt is waving around. "Too bad, I thought you spotlight hogs liked getting into costume and playing parts and shit."

Kurt grins as Blaine stands up and smooths his slacks. "Trying to appeal to the theatre child in me. That's sneaky." He gives the shirt a second look, though. "What do you think, Blaine? Could I pull off Redneck Chic?"

Blaine smiles, coming over to Kurt and reaching out, straightening the collar of one of his favorite last-season's-but-still-fantastic Marc Jacobs sweaters. He studies him appraisingly, with a little more attention than the question might actually deserve.

"I think," he announces after a moment, "you could get away with anything your fabulous little heart attempted."

Kurt tries not to preen too much. Just a quick fix of the hair and tug of a sleeve. "Naturally."

Blaine laughs and leans in, kissing him quick and light. "We should go."

Kurt turns back to Dave in time to see him turning away towards the door. He slips away from Blaine and grabs the brown flannel the moment before Dave lets it go to leave behind on the couch.

He flashes Dave a grin, moving past him towards the door. "Just for you, then, I will attempt to wear this. In the car. And that's it."

Dave returns the grin instantly.

* * *

><p>It's a bright start, and it goes down hill fast.<p>

Blaine has never mentioned any fondness for bowling: he even voted against The Big Lebowski during their movie-night debate yesterday (a thing that Kurt thinks Dave might have judged Blaine a little bit for. Kurt isn't entirely sure he blames Dave. Who doesn't love The Dude?). But he is strangely into it when they play the first game. He cheers Kurt on, offers tips about how he holds the ball even though his score doesn't go much higher than Kurt's, and he seems strangely annoyed when Dave soundly destroys both of them.

"It's a straight man's game," he grumbles as Dave nonchalantly turns and heads towards them before his ball even touches the pins. All of the pins. Which then all fall down.

Kurt laughs at Blaine's moaning. "That would exclude all three of us, remember?"

"Right. That's easy to forget."

Kurt shoots Blaine a look. "We're doing so well here. Don't get bitchy."

"I'm not." Blaine gestures at Dave as he sprawls into the bench across from them and grabs the keg full of soda that this place apparently calls a 'medium drink'.

Kurt rolls his eyes, but smiles and claps Blaine on the shoulder. "Go, your turn. And don't be a sore loser."

"I haven't lost yet." Blaine grins and heads for the lane.

Kurt glances over at Dave. "He's a sore loser," he says again, in case it's not obvious.

Dave shrugs. "He's also not as quiet as he thinks he is. Prick." And it's probably not an accident that those words are pitched loud enough to carry above the sounds of bowling around them.

Blaine doesn't even tense. He grabs his ball and steps up, going through what Kurt has discovered is an adorable but lengthy pre-bowl stretch-and-aim routine. It gives Kurt a nice view of his ass for a few seconds each time he bowls, so he's not complaining.

Dave leans over, and this time his words don't carry. "You want to beat him? You're not letting the ball go soon enough. You've got the aim, but your shit's _weak_, and it doesn't stay straight the whole way down. Just put a little weight behind it, and let it go a little closer to the actual lane."

Kurt watches Blaine, but shoots Dave a quick conspiratorial grin. "If we both beat him he'll be intolerable."

"As opposed to what he is now?" Dave sits back. "I'm just saying. Commit to your throw, Fancy. Go diva on this shit."

Blaine is just one pin away from a spare this round, and he seems satisfied as he comes back and sits down, at least for the two seconds before his eyes go up to the screen flashing their scores. His smile fades with a growl.

It's kind of cute, watching him go all macho about a round of bowling.

When Kurt steps up to take his turn, Blaine's smile returns and he shouts out encouragement. Kurt grabs the marbled pink ball he chose at the start of the game ("Yes, David, _this_ one_.")_. He laughs over his shoulder at Blaine's whistle, but his eyes catch on Dave.

Dave lifts an eyebrow, watching him silently. Kurt grins and turns to the lane and those tormenting pins.

Go diva on this shit. He can do that. Put weight behind it, let it go sooner.

Even the _sound _it makes is different when the ball slams into the front pin. Even the rumble down the lane before that crash.

"Whoa!" Kurt laughs in shock when the last toddling pin gives in to gravity and falls. He spins around, raising his arms in triumph.

"Strike! Go, baby!"

He soaks in Blaine's cheering, and grins at Dave. "_Dude," _he says emphatically.

Dave laughs, pushing to his feet and moving up to Kurt and past him with a nudge of the arm. "Thought you hated that word," he says as he reaches for his own (boring black) ball.

"We're _bowling._ It seemed to fit." Kurt leans in and stage-whispers, "Got any other tips?"

Dave shoots him a grin, but his eyes go past Kurt and his smile crooks to one side. "I think your first coach wouldn't like that. Go, Fancy. My turn now."

Blaine doesn't watch as Kurt saunters up, glowing from his first (and maybe only) strike of the night. Since that's intolerable, Kurt slides onto the bench beside him and punches him in the arm. "Excuse me! I just made _art _up there."

Blaine's eyes shift from Dave to Kurt. He's still smiling, but it's that tight, polite smile he gave Dave Thursday night. "And you had a _very _appreciative audience," he says.

Kurt's grin slides to the side. "Um, meow. Why so catty?"

Blaine leans in. "Look, isn't the whole point of this to make him comfortable with an actual couple? To see that we're the same as any straight couple, and we can be in public and it's okay?"

Kurt blinks. "Well. Sure."

"Good." He slides in closer on the bench and loops his hand around Kurt's arm. "Because you are very, very cute when you bowl a strike."

Kurt grins into the kiss, though he does feel a little awkward in the middle of this hard bench seat with the rumbles and crashes of other peoples' games around them. He pulls back, and Blaine chases him instantly to kiss him again.

Kissing Blaine is nice. This...this is strange.

When Blaine lets him breathe, Kurt sees Dave sitting back in his spot, holding his drink and looking pointedly away from them. His grin is gone.

Kurt shoots Blaine a confused look. He's kissed Blaine a lot, and that felt different. He thinks that's because it didn't have much to do with Kurt at all.

"You're up," he says to Blaine. "And next time you want to prove a point about...gay _pride _or whatever that was about, don't use me to do it."

Blaine raises his eyebrows, looking surprised by that. "I know you're not prone to PDAs, Kurt, but it's hard to get someone comfortable with the idea of a gay couple if we don't act a little bit like a couple. This is your idea, not mine."

That's true, so Kurt doesn't say anything else. He watches Blaine move up to the lane, and tries not to look over at Dave. He tries to be the supportive boyfriend, clapping as Blaine moves into place. He watches Blaine's little warm-up shimmy with a laugh.

And...it's his idea, the whole thing. But like Mercedes said, it's one thing to talk about it and another to actually do it, and now that they're doing it it feels like a _bad_ idea.

Third wheel, Mercedes said, and that's what it feels like. Like a way to exclude Dave, to rub it in that he's alone and they're together. Kurt likes to think that he has impeccable manners, and this feels _rude_.

But then, isn't that the point? How can he get Dave comfortable with the idea of a couple if they sit here like lumps and don't do anything coupley? Anyway, it's not like Dave has ever mentioned wanting something like Kurt and Blaine have. He never talks about guys, or about wanting a boyfriend.

In fact, almost the opposite. He talks more comfortably about never being with anyone than he talks about any other aspect of his sexuality.

But is that because he can't _picture _it? Is it because he really thinks gay couples are some aberration that belongs in a circus, or preening around Jennifer Aniston in some movie? If that's the case, than this really will help him.

Right?

Getting in one last word, the Mercedes in his head tells him again, with surprising vehemence, that he is so entirely _dumb _about some things.

* * *

><p>Breadstix is either the best idea Kurt's ever had, or the worst. Judging by how his luck has gone so far today...actually it could still be either.<p>

It's Saturday, so the weekend crowds will be there. But it's early, only 4PM when they pull in to the parking lot. Breadstix is one of the few places in Lima that isn't a diner, so there will still be a crowd here. But not a big one, hopefully.

On the other hand, it's something familiar. It's a place from Before, where Dave might conceivably run into someone that he knows. And that, Kurt thinks, is a good thing. Dave has spent way too much time in controlled environments, and going right from the safety of the Hummel Home into the chaos of school on Monday would be way too extreme. He needs to transition into it, to take a few baby steps before that big leap. Bowling was a start, and this bit of familiarity is a step further.

Altogether, he thinks it's a solid idea.

Which doesn't mean that he doesn't spend the entire drive worrying about it.

It's possible that Blaine can sense his nervousness - he spends the ride with his hand on Kurt's knee, keeping up a line of inane chatter about how bowling isn't actually a real sport, and even if it was his people are genetically disposed to be bad at them. In fact, the only thing Dave says the entire trip comes then, when he responds to that bit about Blaine's people with a muttered 'douchebags?' from the back seat.

Blaine hears that and grips Kurt's knee and smiles into his next inane bit of talk, something along the lines of how dancing is much more a legitimate sport than bowling. It's hard to tell if he's being rude - he does smile back at Dave at one point and allow that none of these are real sports compared to something like football - or if he's just sulking from coming in last at the bowling alley.

Kurt half focuses on the drive, and the other half of his mind splits between Blaine and Dave. Things between them aren't getting any easier, but maybe this entire thing has been doomed from the start. Maybe that's what everyone but him saw, something as simple as that.

He doesn't understand it, though, and it's enough to put him in a bad mood from the bowling alley to the Breadstix parking lot.

Blaine isn't rude. He's not. Kurt isn't blind by some first-boyfriend fog that makes everything Blaine does seem perfect. He's well aware that Blaine has flaws. He can be smug, he can be self-absorbed. He shrinks from negative attention, from standing out, and maybe with his history that isn't a _flaw _so much as something he needs to overcome. But it's still something that Kurt notices, something he finds less than appealing.

Blaine can monopolize anything - a stage, a conversation, an entire evening. He likes to be the center of attention as long as it's on his own terms. He's a little bit judgmental. Sometimes he sings like he's auditioning for a boyband.

So Kurt sees his flaws. He does. He would know if his boyfriend was a complete jerk, and he's _not. _So why can't he talk this flawed but kind and sensitive boyfriend of his into giving Dave an actual chance?

Same for Dave. Dave is temperamental, sure. He's prone to anger, he's so used to hiding that it seems to be his initial reaction to just about everything. But he's not combative, not anymore. The closet he was clawing so hard to stay inside of was demolished around him, and his claws have retracted.

Why can't he stop glaring at Blaine and lobbing over smart-ass comments that would be funny if he didn't mean them so sincerely?

It makes sense that someone like Blaine and someone like Dave aren't meant to be best friends. It doesn't make sense that even with Kurt begging them, they can't even begin to get along.

When he parks outside Breadstix, Blaine gets out fast and comes around to the driver's side, meeting Kurt and throwing an arm around his waist with an easy smile. "Come on," he says, soft but not so soft that Dave can't hear him, "time to teach Dave how a real couple makes an entrance."

Kurt almost doesn't even recognize him, the blasting smile, the look in his eyes. His Blaine is still in there - there's a playful edge to his words that Kurt knows as his boyfriend - but he's too big about it. Too deliberate.

Like he's acting, Kurt thinks as he lets Blaine lead him into the restaurant. Of course. Acting like a proud out couple, which is what Kurt told him to do.

But...no, that doesn't make sense either. Because they _are _a proud out couple. This shouldn't be any different than any other time they go out, except for the fact of Dave's presence.

And so it goes right back to Dave.

Kurt looks back over his shoulder, offering Dave a weak smile as he moves through the door with Blaine. He leans in for the few seconds that the door is shut between them and Dave.

"Can you tone it down a little bit, for god's sake?"

Blaine blasts that smile at him, but hesitates when he meets Kurt's eyes. "This is what you want," he says.

"No. I want Dave to know that we're a normal couple who can go out together and be something bigger than just 'gay'." Kurt can hear the irritation in his words. He doesn't bother trying to soften it. "I don't know what you're actually _doing, _but I want Dave to get to know you. Right now I don't even want to know you."

Blaine draws back, a wounded look coming and going from his face. He slips his arm off of Kurt. "Fine."

Kurt rolls his eyes and grabs him, stepping to the side and coming in close. He can see Dave moving past them without even looking, probably assuming they're taking another moment to make out.

"Blaine, listen to me here. You're the most sensitive, supportive person I know, and I want Dave to know you the way I know you. I want him to know _us, _because no one who can know you and I together can possibly think there's anything wrong with a gay couple being happy. So please...can we just be us?"

Almost instantly, Blaine relaxes. He nods, his eyes soft. "This is what happens when you give a show choir kid a vague stage direction." He reaches up and slips his fingers down Kurt's jaw with a smile. "Sorry. I overdo things sometimes."

Kurt relaxes, because his Blaine is back in those bright eyes. He catches Blaine's hand when it lowers, squeezing it in his. "Welcome back."

There are people there, mostly younger families or older couples at this time of day, so by the time they get up to the hostess stand Dave is already following the girl back through the tables.

She seats them at a booth near the back, and Kurt slides in across from Dave and smiles warmly. "This is going to be okay," he says.

Dave looks across at him almost reluctantly, eyes twitching over as Blaine slides in beside Kurt. "Yeah. Sure."

Blaine smiles in return. "See anyone here you know? Kurt mentioned that might be a risk."

Dave frowns at him automatically, tense. Waiting for the barb.

Kurt holds his breath.

Blaine returns Dave's gaze steadily. "It's been pointed out to me that I'm being obnoxious," he says with a wry smile. "And I don't mean to be. I suppose I'm just proud of what I've got," he says, the words coming out measured and careful. "What Kurt and I have."

Kurt looks from him to Dave, waiting, as they lock eyes.

Dave nods finally, quick and sharp. "Yeah, I get that." He holds Blaine's eyes for a moment, then looks down at his menu.

Blaine smiles over at Kurt, reaching over and grabbing the side of his menu to tug it over so they can look at it together.

And Kurt has that feeling again, like he's just starting Chapter Two and everyone else is at the Epilogue. Like an entire conversation just happened that Blaine and Dave somehow understood, but Kurt doesn't.

* * *

><p>The most ironic thing about Breadstix, besides the 'Fine Dining' category the poor sheltered people of Lima place it into, is that the worst things on the whole menu are the breadsticks. They serve them about ten different ways: plain, with garlic butter, smothered in cheese, sprinkled with this clumpy seasoning that tastes like parmesan-flavored MSG. Or MSG-flavored parmesan, it's hard to tell.<p>

Kurt's tried just about all of them in his many dinners here, and they're all pretty much disgusting.

Dave decimates an order of the garlic ones, Blaine neatly polishes off the single one he plucked from the basket, and Kurt is left to guide the conversation.

"-actually thinking about putting a chapter in Lima," he's saying as the inhalations die down across from him and Dave seems to be ready to focus on something besides shoving entire loaves of bread down his throat.

It's a good thing Kurt has had time to get used to Finn's eating habits, he might be disconcerted by it.

Instead he just smiles and keeps talking. "I've talked to some teachers about it - Mr. Schue, of course, and Miss Pillsbury, but I don't think they're too excited about basing it in the school. Which, okay, is understandable. I think PFLAG would be good for McKinley, but I'm not sure the reverse is true."

Dave shrugs, wiping garlic butter from hands to napkin with the carelessness of any teenage boy except Kurt Hummel. "Summertime the hockey team used to meet up at this place on Derry Drive, near the mall? This community center place. We'd play on roller skates on this basketball court out back just to keep in practice. It was fucking embarrassing how bad we sucked on wheels."

"Is it easier on ice?" Blaine asks.

Dave shrugs. "Maybe out of self-preservation. Ice fucking hurts when you land on your ass, maybe we just stayed up on sheer willpower. But, point is. The guy who books that place up, Brian. He's kind of a creep but I bet he'd have a room for you once a week or whatever."

"Really?" Kurt lights up - the PFLAG talk was just the first thing that came to mind to talk about. It's remained this vague notion in Kurt's mind since he first mentioned it to Dave in Figgins' office last year. "That would be amazing!"

Dave smiles faintly. "Dude, you know...that's why communities have community centers. The place is probably in the phone book."

"Don't try to embarrass me, I don't do practical details well. I'm a dreamer." Kurt beams over at Blaine. "You really think we can do this? It's _Lima._"

Blaine laughs. "As hard as it is to believe, the entire gay population of Lima isn't sitting at this table. Where two of you are, there are more. You might start slowly, that's all."

"Great. Fancy and me sitting in a room staring at each other. With punch and little pinwheel cookies."

"Team Rainbow!" Kurt holds up a fist with a laugh. "You know, I wouldn't hold you to it. Doing it with me."

Dave glances at Blaine. He shrugs. "Education, right? Besides, it'd probably look awesome on a college app next to the sports shit."

Kurt grins.

Blaine doesn't. "At the risk of sounding obnoxious again...if you do this with Kurt it ought to be something you take very seriously. I've been to a few meetings in different places, the people who show up usually need some real help. It's not a social gathering, it's a support group."

Dave peers at him. "And me with my new clown costume. I think I can manage serious shit, thanks."

"I just want to make sure you know what you'd be getting into," Blaine replies. "Both of you. If you start this, and you decide to run it yourselves, you become representative of something bigger than you are."

Kurt nods slowly. "I know that. And even though I've been Lima's walking poster child for Gay most of my life, I know this is a whole new responsibility. But we can take it on."

"You and Dave?"

Kurt looks over instantly. "Blaine."

Blaine shakes his head, and his eyes are still soft and worried and Blaine, but he isn't letting up. "I'm serious, Kurt. I know that things have changed lately, but..." He looks over at Dave, almost in challenge. "You need the help, you don't need to give it to other people. You're not ready."

"I didn't realize I was signing up for a PhD," Dave answers, voice low. "I can handle the organizational stuff, whatever. I'm not a fucking dumbass."

"Come on."

"Blaine!"

"No." Blaine barely looks over at Kurt before leaning in, aiming a pointed finger at Dave. "You are talking about something I take very seriously, and you can't get through a sentence without profanity or sarcasm. Just a few weeks ago you were still calling us 'homo' and 'ladyboy' and those other slurs that guys like you love so much. And have you ever once actually said the words 'I'm gay' out loud?"

Dave's hand clenches around his water glass. "Fuck you, prep school. You don't know shit about my life."

Blaine lets out an exasperated breath. "I know too much about your life, Dave. Kurt hasn't been able to talk about anything else for _weeks_. Trust me, I'm not trying to undermine what you've gone through. I have no doubt that you've seen a side of coming out that a lot of people haven't seen. But running PFLAG isn't about having a story to tell. It's about being able to help others who are in the middle of their own stories. It's about becoming stronger to support people who need it. You can barely sit in a restaurant without Kurt's encouragement." He looks over at Kurt with apology in his eyes. "I'm sorry, okay? But I had PFLAG when I really needed someone. A couple of those meetings changed my life. I can't imagine someone who needed guidance the way I did once going into a meeting and finding..."

"Yeah, Eyebrows? Finding _what?"_

Kurt shakes his head at Blaine before he can look back at Dave. "Stop it. If this is going to turn into a fight than we can save it for later."

"No, Fancy. Let him talk. You're both right, you know. Obviously I need to get some fucking education, and pretty boy here's the one ready to deal it out." Dave sits back, staring hard at Blaine. "So? Teach me, professor."

Blaine glares at him. "I'm not letting you turn me into the bad guy here. I'm not going to apology because I care about the next generation of scared kids who just want to know that they're okay."

"Will you two just stop it?" Kurt scowls at them both. "This is important to me, I don't want it reduced to petty squabbles." He turns a fierce look on Blaine. "Leave this alone. I'm telling you. Leave it, if you insist we will talk about it later. Not here, not now."

Blaine shakes his head, but slumps back and reaches for his drink. "Fine."

Kurt's glare crosses the table.

Dave glares back at him. "You get pissed all you want, Fancy. Your boyfriend is full of shit."

"Oh, come _on." _Blaine twists, looking at Kurt with fresh anger. "You know what I'm saying here, and you know I'm right! If you tell me you want him to join those meetings I'll say amen. I'll drive down here from Dalton every week and give him a ride if he needs it. I am all for people educating themselves. What I'm _against _is one confused, violent _bully_ suddenly finding some humility and acting like everything has changed!"

Kurt catches Dave out of the corner of his eye. His eyes are furious, but he flinches at those words.

"He is in no position to help anyone, Kurt! He needs a doctor, he needs to figure himself out. He isn't good for anyone right now, and you _know _it!" Blaine reaches out, touching Kurt's sleeve. "If a guy like him was in my first PFLAG meeting, I'd probably have a girlfriend right now."

"Blaine..." Kurt can't decide between rage and confusion, he flips back and forth and the indecision mutes him.

Blaine turns to Dave. "Look. Seriously. Even if you weren't profane and tactless, even if you managed to look professional for one night a week...you are _terrifying. _The sheer fact of you and what happened to you would push people back into the closet."

From one breath to the next, Dave goes from slightly injured anger to...nothing.

He blinks, and it's as quick as that. His expression blanks out, the red of anger fades under a pale wash.

He sets the glass of water he's been clutching so tightly down on the table. He looks at Blaine, and at Kurt. "What happened to me?"

That question is flat and almost polite. Almost like Dave's honestly asking, like he wants to know.

Kurt understands in the next moment, in the beat of hard silence that falls between them. He understands what's coming, and he shuts his eyes.

"What _happened _to me, Blaine?" Dave asks after a moment, his voice soft. "You heard my dad kicked me out? Yeah, that kind of sucked. And my friend, my best friend for eight fucking years, he turned on me. That's pretty lousy too, but he's actually kinda back now, so. I wouldn't call that terrifying."

Kurt has to press his mouth shut, has to lift his hands to cover his mouth so that he doesn't...what? Try to answer? He has nothing to say here.

He never told Dave that Blaine knew.

"In fact," Dave says, "you asked me if I ever said those words? 'I'm gay?' Well, that's what happened the first two times I ever said it. I wonder if you already know what happened the third time."

Blaine knows. He understands. He sends Kurt a look, surprise and disappointment and doom all in one glance.

Kurt just shakes his head, his hands clamped over his mouth. He looks at Dave, wanting this to be done with. Wanting it to be ten minutes ago so he never brings up PFLAG. Or twenty minutes from now, so they can just have the fight and he can beg forgiveness and just magically land on the other side of that.

Dave's eyes go from Blaine, who hasn't made a peep in answer, to Kurt. The blankness cracks when Kurt looks back at him, and there's something...

God, something _horrible_ there. Something betrayed.

He didn't betray Dave. He didn't. He just had to tell someone. He had to make the load easier to carry. It's not a betrayal.

"You know," Dave says, and his voice is unsteady. "I couldn't stop them, and I couldn't make it so Coach Sylvester didn't walk in on me and know everything all at once. I couldn't stop the doctors from taking their fucking kits and doing their...their tests. Couldn't even stop it from going around school like some...some fucking _gossip. _This...it never..." He stops, shakes his head.

Kurt can't even breathe. He can't look from Dave's eyes, from the hurt so deep in them that it's contagious, it makes Kurt hurt.

"Jesus _fuck_," Dave breathes out, like it's all too big for him to even voice. He's still so _quiet. _"This one fucking thing. This should have been _mine. _I should have been able to fucking keep it."

Kurt tries to open his mouth, tries to say he's sorry, to whisper it, to even mouth it. But he can't pry his hands from his mouth. He can't move.

"I never wanted this." Dave stares at Kurt, quiet and steady and that's so much worse than yelling or tears. He's _hiding _now. He hasn't hidden from Kurt before. "You know that? Both of you..." His gaze flicks over to Blaine. "I don't want a fucking lifestyle. I don't want to be like you two. I just want to be my fucking self and have that be okay."

Kurt nods - his paralysis lets him go enough to manage that, a frantic and mute nod, because of course Dave is okay as he is. Kurt doesn't want him to change, he just wants him to come out of hiding. That's all he ever wanted, and if he can make Dave see that...

But he can't. He nods until he can't anymore, and then he's sitting there mute and useless again, just staring at Dave with tears leaking down over his hands.

Blaine speaks, and Kurt's so focused on Dave that he flinches at the reminder that there's someone else here.

"Kurt doesn't want to change you, Dave. Hate me all you want, but you have to know I'm right. He just wants you to accept who you are, to be okay with the-"

"_Fuck_ you!"

It's loud enough to still the entire restaurant, to bring eyes to their table.

Dave doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe he's beyond caring. "Fuck both of you. Yeah, I expected this shit from you, Blaine. You don't bother hiding the fact that you're a judgmental prick. But you." His eyes snap over to Kurt.

Kurt draws back. His hands fall from his mouth but he can't talk.

"The fucking king of tolerance, but I should have fucking known. From the start, the moment you found out I was queer, you shit all over me for it. I wasn't a good enough queer for you, I wasn't out and proud and skipping down the hallways like you did. You didn't have a thing to say to me that wasn't 'come out' until the day my fucking closet vanished. I should have known, and...and you can go_ fuck_ yourself, and your shopping trips, and a night out with the happy couple because there's no way I could be a good enough queer on my own without a couple of mincing fucking _faggots _training me how to do it right."

"Hey!" Blaine speaks up instantly. "You have no right to talk to him-"

Dave moves suddenly, pushing himself to the end of the booth and jerking to his feet. "Don't worry, I've got nothing else to say to him." But he stops, he narrows his eyes at Kurt. "No, there is one more thing."

Blaine opens his mouth to object.

Kurt reaches out and grabs his arm to stop him from speaking. It's the first rational thing he's been able to do.

Dave looks past Blaine at Kurt. He sucks in a breath and hisses it out through his teeth. "I'd probably be dead right now if it wasn't for you," he says.

Kurt shakes his head, knowing it's true, knowing Dave and his pill bottles and his despair.

"But nobody I've ever met has made me feel worse about myself than you do." Dave's anger is gone, drained away or pushed back into hiding. Kurt is sitting here witnessing the moment that Dave starts rebuilding whatever closet he can from the shattered splinters of his old one.

Dave's eyes slide over to Blaine. "I get why you came down here," he says flatly. "But you don't have to stick around anymore. I'm done trying to be something I'm not. "

Blaine nods once, terse, and stares hard at Dave as he turns away from them.

Kurt can't move to stop this. Any of it. Everything is crumbling around him, and how can he be the one to stop it when it's all his fault? He can't.

All he can do is watch Dave walk out.


	23. Chapter 23

He watches Dave go.

It's this claw inside of him, this skeletal hand in his chest, tightening and tightening with every indrawn breath. And it isn't like there's something he can _say. _It's not like he's frozen, because he isn't. There's simply nothing at all that he can do at this moment.

Dave walks out, and the few people still looking over at them thanks to Dave's outburst slowly turn back to their own tables, giving each other those 'sucks to be _those _guys' grins that always seem to follow some public display of temper.

Blaine turns to Kurt at some point; Kurt feels his eyes, even if he can't bring himself to look over. It would be a luxury, a reward, letting himself look at something. Letting Blaine or anything else replace the memory of acute betrayal dulling Dave's usually vibrant hazel eyes.

That image is burning so deep into his brain it might be permanent.

There's nothing to say, because Dave is gone. Nothing to do, because Kurt did it. Everything Dave is furious about, Kurt is guilty of it. There's no misunderstanding here, no one is jumping to wrong conclusions. It's no eye-rolling Hollywood scenario where if they simply _talk _to each other it would all be cleared up in fifteen seconds flat.

Kurt is simply guilty.

"Kurt?"

He doesn't want to look at Blaine, but he lets himself.

Blaine studies him in concern. He opens his mouth to say something, but hesitates. Finally, with a sigh, he nods back in the direction Dave walked away in. "He didn't drive here."

Kurt blinks at that, not comprehending.

Until he _does _comprehend. Then it's only Blaine's quick reflexes that keep him from getting knocked out of the booth as Kurt shoves at him.

He flat-out runs the shortest space between tables to get to the front door of the restaurant, and he's outside and looking around in a flash. No Dave. Not standing there furious waiting for a cab, no distant figure with tight shoulders at the start of a long, long walk.

No Dave.

Kurt reaches his Escalade, and the engine is running and he's pushing into reverse when the passenger door opens and Blaine slides in.

"I had to pay," he says, as if Kurt can spare a single thought to wondering what took him so long.

Kurt shifts into gear, and the Escalade lurches forward when his foot leaves the brake. The curb scrapes along the underside of the grill and Kurt curses under his breath and put it into reverse the way he meant.

The blast of a car horn is all that keeps him from shooting out without even looking, and when Kurt grabs the wheel and waits for some outraged soccer mom in a Camry to finish passing him, he can only stare down at his hands.

"Kurt. Park the car."

He slices a glare over at Blaine.

Blaine already has his door open, but he stops halfway out and looks back at him seriously. "Let me drive. Did you call his phone?"

Kurt doesn't swear often, it's not his automatic reaction to most any situation, but he has to stifle a few choice words. He parks and scoots over the shifter panel to the passenger seat, reaching for his phone at the same time and nearly tangling himself in the hanging seat belt.

He hits Dave's name and shuts his eyes, listening to it ring as Blaine gets them into motion finally.

"_Yo, this is Dave. Leave a message." _

Kurt hangs up and stares at Dave's photo in the little square beside his name. He hits it again, covers his other ear with his hand as the phone rings.

"_Yo, this is Dave. Leave a message." _

He hangs up. "_Damn _it." He looks around at the street they're hugging the rightmost lane, and one by one the cars behind them are passing in irritation. "See him?"

"No. This isn't the most pedestrian-friendly part of the city," Blaine says, frowning out the window as he drives them slowly on. "I'll circle back and try the other way."

Kurt presses Dave's name again. He squints out through the dimming light and the flow of traffic. A mother pushing a stroller down the sidewalk, that's the only person in sight on foot.

"_Yo, this is Dave, Leave a-"_

He growls and disconnects. Where would Dave go? His truck is at their house, and Kurt's been his faithful driver for the last few weeks, except when Finn...

He's scrolling through his contacts instantly, and he jabs the icon of Finn in his bland smile and pushes the phone to his ear.

"_Hey, bro!"_

"Finn! Did Dave call you?"

"_Who? Karofsky? Why would he call-"_

That's all Kurt needs to hear to hang up. He scrolls back up the couple of names between Finn and Dave, hitting Dave again.

"Is that...no." Blaine's eyes are out at a distant figure hunching across a street. Obviously too thin and small. And Asian.

Kurt glares at the distant figure.

"_Yo, this is-"_

He hangs up, frustrated.

"Kurt, we'll find him. Calm down."

Calm down. If Kurt wasn't utterly incapable of laughter at this moment, he would laugh. He stares down at his useless phone, willing it to ring.

He let Dave walk away. God, as if he needs one more strike against him, he let Dave walk out without a car or a ride or anything, and didn't even get his head out of the clouds enough to notice until Blaine pointed it out.

Blaine pulls into a turning lane to turn and start back the other way. As they sit waiting for the light to change, he looks over at Kurt. Once quickly, then again. Finally he just says whatever it is he's doubtlessly hesitating over.

"He shouldn't talk to you like that."

Kurt turns to him, and the force of the _'WHAT?' _that he wants to shout in response is so big that it jams up inside of him.

Blaine faces front again, watching the traffic light. "I know he's mad. But to use words like that..." He shakes his head. "He hasn't changed, and it worries me. There is still too much anger inside of him, and he doesn't know how to respond to it, and-"

"Blaine." Kurt stares back at his phone. "You should really stop talking."

Blaine doesn't answer.

Kurt can't look over, doesn't want to see if Blaine is angry or hurt or concerned. He can't let himself turn his anger onto Blaine, because it isn't fair. Blaine isn't to blame for this. Dave and Blaine could have spent the entire evening bitching at each other and probably would have been perfectly content.

Kurt is the one who ruined...God, how much? Everything? Not the day, or the weekend, but every moment he's spent with Dave since he turned a corner in a locker room and saw red stains and dirty towels?

Everything, and it's so _much. _It's weeks, and every huge thing that happened during those weeks. It's the surprising green in Dave's eyes, and jokes about their English teacher and her thousand cats. Shutting his eyes in the middle of a crowded lunchroom because an amused voice in his ear asks him to.

Is all of that gone? How could it possibly be gone? There's so _much_, and this was...was so fast, and so simple, and...

"He was right," he says, staring at his silent phone. "Everything he said. He should have been able to keep his own secrets, and he didn't get a chance. He should be able to decide who knows this thing about him, and I..."

"Kurt, you're allowed to share your problems with your boyfriend when you need some help, or advice. Even if those problems involve someone else."

Kurt laughs, dry and bitter and it's like coughing up sawdust. "There are limits, Blaine. Jesus."

"Maybe, but...Kurt."

Blaine pauses, waits, and with a flare of annoyance Kurt looks over because he knows that's what Blaine is waiting on.

"I know you," Blaine says, meeting Kurt's eyes for just a moment before the light changes and he puts the car into motion again. "You wouldn't have told me anything if you didn't have to tell someone. Dave will realize that."

Kurt looks at his phone. He hits Dave's name and turns away from Blaine to listen to it ring.

"_Yo, this is Dave. Leave a me-"_

He disconnects, but changes his mind and calls again instantly. This time he waits for the beep and shuts his eyes as he speaks. "I'm sorry. Please call me."

It's all he can say. He hangs up and lowers the phone to his lap. "He was right about the rest of it, too. I'm just as narrow-minded as anyone else. I demand everyone in my life accept me for just what I am, and then I go after Dave with these stupid, thoughtless comments about how he's not...how he should be different than he is if he wants to be gay."

He's made Dave feel bad about himself. He's made Dave feel _worse _about himself than anyone Dave has ever met. Dave, with the dad who threw him out like garbage for not being the perfect all-American son. With the best friend who turned his back on an eight-year friendship – even if only temporarily – because Dave was suddenly being honest with him.

Those are only two of the people Kurt is being weighed again, and Kurt _loses. _Kurt makes Dave feel worse about himself than...

"God, when I think..." He shakes his head, looking out the window though he doesn't think they're going to be lucky enough to drive right past Dave. "I hurt him, Blaine."

"You're human. People hurt each other, even with the best of intentions."

"I hurt _Dave_," Kurt stresses, looking over at Blaine's profile as he drives. "Do you understand that that's...it's not acceptable. And no, you know what? You don't get to say anything about this, because he was right about you, too. You _are _judgmental, and you can be a prick."

Blaine's head turns for the briefest moment before he looks back at the road. "You never told me that Dave didn't know I knew what happened."

"I'm not talking about that." Kurt frowns at him. "He told you he could do other things for the group, for PFLAG. The organizational stuff. And you ignored it to yell at him about traumatizing people. Dave was never going to sit down in the front of some group and act like he had the answers for any of their problems. God, Blaine, you told a terrified guy who's had his closet demolished around him that he'll scare people if he shows up at a support meeting. How is that not being a _prick?_"

He doesn't want to be mad at Blaine, but...he is. He's mad at himself, and at Blaine, and at Dave even, a little, though that feels like another minor betrayal.

"I shouldn't have said that," Blaine says after a moment. "But I stand by my opinion that he doesn't belong in that kind of group. Not yet. Kurt, the moment he got angry and didn't know how else to express it, he called us mincing faggots. That kind of attitude is poisonous, and I won't apologize for not wanting it near a place that people come to for help."

"You don't even hear yourself," Kurt realizes, staring at Blaine. "You care so much for those scared nameless people, you can't even see that Dave is one of them. You want to protect some future you from Dave, when he's been kicked out of his home and lost everything he had because he's gay. He was attacked for it, Blaine. He _hates _himself for it, and you think he's the monster."

It's jarring, even startling. Blaine has a habit for helping people, a knack for spotting the lost puppies in a crowd and knowing just what they need. He has been such a major factor in Kurt's life, such a guiding hand and a voice of encouragement, that it's shocking to see him so blind to someone else who could use his help.

"This..." He frowns at Blaine, and it's his boyfriend. Same impeccably-styled hair and sweet face and caring eyes. But he's a stranger. He's a man who can look at someone hurt as badly as Dave is hurting, and completely ignore it. That isn't Blaine. It isn't a side of Blaine that Kurt wants to know exists.

He swallows. "This thing between you and Dave. It's not conflicting personalities, or resentment about how he used to treat me. You really hate him."

"No." Blaine answers instantly, with conviction. "I don't hate him. I don't believe in hatred, Kurt."

"Then what is it? Why can you not listen when I _beg _you to give him a chance?"

Blaine lets out a breath. He seems hesitant, but he glances over at Kurt and opens his mouth to answer.

'_I'll never talk again/oh, boy, you've left me-' _

Kurt snaps up his phone instantly, answering before he can even register the name on the display. "Dave?"

"_What the _fuck _did you _do, _Hummel?"_

"Santana?" His instant disappointment only lasts an instant. "You've heard from Dave? Where is he, what's-"

"_He's fine, Z's bringing him back here. And if he walks through my door as upset as he sounded on the phone, I am taking it out of your ass, you hear me?" _

Kurt slumps back against the seat. Relief wars with even greater worry, and he's lost for a response.

The phone clicks in his ear after just a few seconds anyway. He lets out a breath and lets the phone slip to his lap.

He looks over at Blaine, and his voice is soft. "Just take us home."

* * *

><p>He doesn't forget about the conversation they started in the car, though. The house is dark and quiet when they pull up, the sun is gone but the hour's still early for a Saturday night. No one is home, and that means he can lead Blaine upstairs and shut them in his bedroom without getting distracted from the question he wants Blaine to answer.<p>

"Tell me why you hate him."

Blaine moves to Kurt's bed and sits with a sigh. "I told you, I-"

"If it's not hatred it does a good impression," Kurt snaps back.

Blaine frowns up at him.

Kurt doesn't let it sway him – he looks at this wide-eyed, tired look on Blaine's face and sees him as he was at Breadstix, jabbing his finger across the table and telling Dave that he'll drive people back into the closet.

He faces Blaine with as much stubbornness as he's capable of, and that's no small amount. "You know why he's furious? Because I told you that he was raped. And that's why I'm furious, Blaine. Because you know what happened. He was _raped_. He was thrown to the floor in the girls' locker room and held down, and left there naked and bleeding until someone found him. Why does that make him a monster? How can you look at him with such contempt when you _know _about this?"

Blaine shakes his head. "You are not allowed to simplify things that way, Kurt. It's not honest. Yes, Dave was hurt, badly. That doesn't give him permission to be cruel. It doesn't allow him to walk all over people, to swear at you and call you foul names when you have only ever tried to help him."

Kurt sucks in a breath, lets it out. He answers slowly. "Most of the time I love that I can do no wrong in your eyes, but...Blaine. Forget for five minutes that I'm your boyfriend. You've got so much empathy towards everyone else, spare a tiny bit for Dave. If he was one of those scared new recruits coming in to a PFLAG meeting, if he managed to choke out a tale about his family throwing him out, his friends betraying him, spiteful homophobes holding him down and raping him...if he told you that sometimes he gets so angry that he lashes out, would you hate him just like that? If he said that the one person he really confides in anymore went gabbing his secrets to his _boyfriend, _what would you think?"

Blaine isn't looking at Kurt towards the end of those words. His gaze is out in the middle-distance, his brow furrowed. He looks...thoughtful, maybe, but not as much as Kurt wants. There's something else there over and above it. Something unusual, resigned.

Blaine sighs and looks down at the floor between them.

Kurt frowns, sure that there's an answer here. It's so near the surface that he can almost see it, the shape of words in Blaine's sigh of air. He moves to the bed slowly, sitting down beside Blaine. Waiting.

"Kurt...God." Blaine tilts his head back, braced for something. "He _loves_ you."

Kurt's mouth opens to say 'who?', because that seems like a complete non sequitur_. _

The word doesn't come out.

Blaine glances over and nods at whatever is on Kurt's face, as if he expects it. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you must be faking that surprise. But I suppose everyone's got their blind spots, and for some reason this is yours." He smiles faintly, looking back at the floor in front of the bed. "I think when you decided that you liked me and we began a relationship, you considered the matter to be settled entirely. You never look around at anyone else, and you never notice the guys who look at you."

His bedroom feels really small suddenly. Kurt shakes his head, because he still can't seem to find a voice.

"Trust me," Blaine goes on, voice gentle, "it's not jealousy talking. Everyone seems to realize exactly what's going on here, except you."

Mercedes, and his dad. This thing they keep talking around, this huge thing that they seem so incredulous about when Kurt says he doesn't understand what they mean.

"For God's sake, Kurt. You told me he has a playlist on his iPod named after you. That isn't something a guy like him creates for a _friend_."

Kurt can imagine a thousand different moments, a hundred looks and grins and jokes, nudges of the arm. The way Dave's smile is so soft that Kurt keeps being struck by it. The way he says _Fancy_ and Kurt can hear the affection in it. The secrets he shares. His resentment of Blaine, his patience with Kurt.

The way he clings to Kurt's hand so tightly after a nightmare. The way he looks up with scared eyes if Kurt starts to leave before he's asleep. How he texts Kurt at school if the house seems too quiet. The way he chuckles in Kurt's ear, low and private, when Kurt decides to call instead of texting.

The betrayal in his eyes when he knew that Kurt gave his secrets to Blaine.

He wants to shake his head, to argue, to say it doesn't make sense. But it does. He wants to deny it even in his mind, to say 'Of course Dave doesn't love me, because...'

But there's no ending to that sentence. There's no because.

Kurt's dad worries about Dave, and sees that Dave cares about Kurt, and so he warned Kurt against bringing his boyfriend here. Mercedes sees that Dave likes Kurt, but she likes Blaine, so she told Kurt it was a great idea.

Blaine sees that Dave likes Kurt, so he agreed to come to Lima so fast that Kurt couldn't finish the question. He's spent practically every moment of the trip fastened to Kurt and glaring at Dave. That's why he can't give Dave a chance. That's why he doesn't even try to make the times Dave is with them pleasant, or even comfortable.

That's why Dave is so pained by Blaine being here. That's why he can't stand to look at Blaine and Kurt kissing or holding hands. Not because he's uncomfortable with a gay couple. Because he...

Loves Kurt.

Not even 'likes' Kurt. Not even something vague and in between: he doesn't '_like _like' Kurt, or like him 'in that way'. He_ loves_ Kurt. It's clear to everyone in the world. It's so clear that Blaine calls it love.

"Why didn't..." Kurt stares at Blaine, at his tense profile, but his mind shows him a thousand moments that Blaine isn't any part of. "If everyone knew, why didn't someone _tell _me? I'm...we're trying to get through this...this horrible...I'm trying to get him through it, and no one...you didn't think I should _know?_"

"No," Blaine answers, quiet and low. "When I realized you honestly didn't see it, I hoped you never would."

"Why? God, Blaine, do you know how much damage I might have..." He can't talk; this huge thing inside of him is too big to escape.

Blaine looks over at him, and his shoulders seem to slump. Blaine, who is always starched and quaffed and perfect, sits hunched unnaturally as if he can't bear to straighten up.

But Blaine, for all his faults, has always been open and honest with Kurt. When he speaks now it seems painful, and Kurt doesn't doubt the words are true: "When you talk about Dave, it terrifies me."

Kurt draws in a breath. He remembers Blaine's confession of jealousy the Saturday before, sitting in their usual diner holding hands. As Kurt texted Dave non-stop.

"Everything that's so painfully _obvious _about Dave...sometimes when you talk about him those things show all over you, too, Kurt, and God. Why would I want to point that out? Why would I ever want to make you aware of it?"

Kurt can't answer.

Everything he just thought about - every grin Dave flashed or joke he made or chuckle into a phone - he sees himself suddenly on the other side of it. Grinning back, laughing, blushing at the way Dave's laugh seems to shiver through the phone and curl all around him. The way he can't leave Dave's bedside until he knows he's asleep. How he's never been as proud of himself as the times he's rescued Dave from grief and pain and anger.

The unnatural fury he's felt towards the people who hurt Dave – the cops, that psychiatrist. Himself.

Blaine says it's a blind spot of Kurt's; Kurt always thought that he's simply happy. He has always been happy with Blaine. He fell for him so hard, so fast, and...like Blaine said, once Blaine returned his feelings then in Kurt's mind the matter was settled.

It's been the one bit of uncomplicated happiness that Kurt has held on to when everything else in his life has been so shadowed and complex.

He looks over at Blaine.

Blaine is studying him, watching whatever it is that Kurt must be broadcasting all over his face. There's real, visible hurt in Blaine's eyes, and though nothing else about this feels certain, Kurt is certain that he doesn't want to see pain on Blaine's face.

But when he speaks, he only makes it worse. "I don't know how to respond to that," he says, wincing at the lameness in the words.

Blaine nods, almost covering a wince. "I told myself there was a chance you would laugh and deny it outright. Even in my head that seemed absurdly hopeful."

Kurt smiles and it blurs his eyes as if it were a sob. "I love you."

Blaine returns the smile. "Even in my head I don't doubt that."

And that's where they leave it. That's as certain as they can be.

* * *

><p>Kurt's entire world has become this huge cloud of uncertainty. Even Blaine is no longer rock-solid beside him anymore. It's horrible, and...<em>enlivening<em>, thinking that he could step in any one of a dozen directions and the fog will coalesce into a dozen possible paths.

The two things that he's certain of, the only things he can think to himself with certainty:

One: that he has to bring Dave home and make whatever amends he can. He has to do anything and everything necessary to make sure that Dave's trust in him doesn't shatter away entirely. It's cracked now, he has no doubt. Badly cracked. But he can repair it, and he will. There's simply no alternative. There's no sense of pride or selfishness or resignation that can overpower his resolve, not about this.

And two: that first thing in the morning, he has to tell Blaine to leave. It's what he promised his father, that if Blaine hurts more than helps, he has to go. The reason Blaine's presence is hurting things is nothing that Kurt suspected when he made that promise, but there's no denying that his being here is making things worse. Kurt will have to wake him with his suitcase, and will have to do his absolute best to not make Blaine think it's because of what Blaine told him tonight.

Those two things are clear, and absolutely nothing else is.


	24. Chapter 24

_Author's Note: Hi, guys! And welcome to the new kids! I suddenly got a group of people telling me they haven't been reading but swallowed this monster whole and are waiting for more. :-) So hi there, and whoever the anonymous person is who sent you here, tell them thanks. :-) _

_Here's this, and I hope you enjoy the relative peace because tomorrow you're just going to hate me all over again. Because forgiveness is never so easy._

* * *

><p>As it turns out, Blaine isn't very happy at all the next morning.<p>

"I'm trying," he says, sitting on Kurt's bed with his bag packed beside him, "not to see this as you choosing him over me. I'm really trying not to."

Kurt just shrugs – he didn't sleep well, and he's worried about Dave, and he loves Blaine but he can't have a conversation like this hours after discovering that his new friend might have feelings for him.

"I promised my dad," he says simply, though explaining that to Blaine minutes ago apparently didn't help the first time.

Blaine shakes his head and grabs his bag. "You know...I'm just a little hurt right now, and maybe I ought to go and not say anything, in case I'm letting my emotions speak out of turn, but..." He frowns at Kurt. "I wish you would take responsibility for something here, Kurt."

Kurt frowns.

"You blame other people for not telling you how Dave feels, when it's so _obvious _that I knew just by hearing you talk about him. You blame me for ruining things last night, when you're the one who talked out of turn about what happened to Dave. You want me to leave so that things here can go back to how they were, because you _like _that he looks at you like you're...some kind of answer for him. Some kind of salvation. You want to keep that going even now, but you can't say that you don't understand the feelings behind it anymore."

He approaches Kurt, and the only thing that keeps Kurt from saying anything is that the anger on Blaine's face isn't enough to cover the hurt in his eyes.

"You want me to be a safe boyfriend two hours drive from here, so you can go on playing hero, so Dave can keep on loving you and you have me as an excuse to not have to do anything about it." Blaine shakes his head, hiking the strap of his bag high on his shoulder. "You told your dad that if I made things worse you would ask me to leave. But I didn't make anything worse here. This whole thing was your idea, and it's your fault it blew up in your face. The only thing I did was be exactly what I am – your boyfriend, the one person who is _supposed _to get jealous and protective when you start throwing yourself at another guy."

He moves past Kurt to the door, and Kurt wants to reach out to stop him but he can't.

"You can't have it both ways," Blaine says quietly from behind him. "It's not fair to me, or to Dave. If he doesn't deserve my lectures about PFLAG then he definitely doesn't deserve your mixed messages. Especially now that you can't pretend not to understand anymore."

Kurt stands silently, aware of Blaine in the doorway behind him, waiting. "What do you want me to say?" he asks finally, his own voice so hushed that it sounds strange even to him.

In contrast Blaine answers him clearly, without hesitation. "Nothing. I want you to think. If you feel nothing but guilt and friendship with Dave, he needs to know that so he has any chance of getting over his feelings. And if you do feel more for him, than I deserve to know, right?"

Kurt wants to get Dave home so that he knows Dave is okay, so he can start undoing some of the damage he's done. He doesn't want a million confused thoughts in his head clogging him up and getting in the way of that.

But Blaine has always been honest, and he's always had an overdeveloped sense of fairness.

Besides...he's right.

Kurt's reaction to what Blaine told him last night...he hasn't begun to look at it yet, and he could keep pushing it down and stalling his reactions for as long as there's something around to distract him. That isn't fair to anyone but Kurt, and Kurt...he's the least important part of this equation. He's the catalyst, the one who set everything in motion. Dave is innocent. Blaine is innocent. Kurt is guilty.

Simple as that, right?

When he turns around finally to tell Blaine that he understands, that he'll figure out what to do...

Blaine is already gone.

* * *

><p>Strangely enough, the words that stick with Kurt in the quiet hour or so after Blaine leaves aren't the ones he figured he would focus on.<p>

_'I wish you would take responsibility for something here, Kurt.'_

That's what echoes through Kurt's mind as he sits on his bed in his silent bedroom, folding and refolding the sheets that made up Blaine's pallet on the floor.

He's thought since the start that _all _he was doing was taking responsibility for things. He hasn't for a moment ignored his part in everything that happened with Dave. The only thing that has for even a few seconds managed to overpower his worry about Dave has been his guilt about his part in the whole thing.

He elected himself Dave's caretaker. What is that if not accepting responsibility?

It hits him, a random thought that he almost laughs at before he realizes that it's true: there's a difference between being responsible for something, and taking responsibility for it.

And Kurt has _been_ responsible for all of this since the start. He's known it and let the guilt all but suffocate him.

But Blaine is right, he hasn't actually taken responsibility. He hasn't let his guilt turn into something active.

He's let Santana handle the kids at school, he let his dad handle the doctors and police. He hasn't even really taken responsibility over Dave. He's been...passive about it, really. Reactive. He holds Dave at night and hums and feels bad with him. He's a partner in misery. Dave hurts, and Kurt stays with him and grieves for his pain, and that's it.

Now there's this big new thing in the peripherals, this revelation that colors everything he and Dave have done or said or been to each other, and if he lets himself Kurt might be perfectly happy to own his responsibility for that without actually taking up that responsibility enough to do something about it.

He's a kid, and maybe that's something of an excuse. No one could possibly expect him to know how to react to any of this.

So instead of being the perfect support for Dave, Kurt has taken up the role without really owning up to the duties it entails. He strokes Dave's hair until he falls asleep and feels like he's done his job. But he hasn't done anything at all, really.

These things come to Kurt bit by bit as he folds sheets and straightens his already-neat bedroom, needing the mindless activity to help his mind keep humming.

When he can't keep himself busy anymore – it doesn't take long to hit that point – and he realizes it's time to actually do something, the first step he needs to take comes to him remarkably fast.

He's a kid, and kind of a sheltered kid. He uses that as an excuse, but excuses don't help anyone. So fine, if he's a kid and not expected to know the right thing to do, than he needs to address that.

He sends a text from his phone – not to Dave directly, because he doesn't doubt that Dave's phone is still off. He sends it to Santana instead. Her phone will be on, and the message will get to Dave.

_I'm sorry, _he types. _Please come home. _

And then he sets his phone on his desk and leaves his bedroom behind, going downstairs.

His dad looks up from the kitchen table, from the newspaper he always spends Sunday mornings reading, and his eyebrows fly up when he sees Kurt.

"Hey, kiddo. You okay?

Kurt draws in a breath and starts his first step in really taking up his responsibilities. "Blaine's gone. I really screwed up, and I don't know how to make it better. I need help."

The paper lowers to the table. His dad studies him.

* * *

><p>He sits at the kitchen table two hours later, watches his dad head out to the living room after they hear the front door open.<p>

He sits there and studies his hands as voices go back and forth – his dad, and Santana, and his dad again. Dave, quiet, a barely audible rumble.

Santana leaves, shutting the door hard behind her. And footsteps come back towards the kitchen.

Kurt draws in a deep breath and looks up. He looks past his dad when he comes in, and every fraction of a second between then and when the door pushes open wider and Dave appears feels like a year.

Dave's eyes go right to Kurt and stay there, though his steps falter for a moment.

It's obvious that Dave slept about as well as Kurt did last night. The shadows under his eyes are deep, his face is pale and wan.

"Sit down, Dave," Kurt's dad says quietly. "Let's talk."

Dave looks away from Kurt fast, like he just wanted the excuse. He glances back at Kurt's dad, but pulls out the nearest chair and drops into it, heavy.

A day ago Kurt would have already been up, already telling his dad that it can wait, that Dave needs to sleep. But Kurt's mind is still trying to sort out the difference between guilt and responsibility, and the way he would have responded yesterday isn't any guide to how he should act today.

He sits where he is and lets himself stay silent – if unhappy – about the exhaustion he can see on Dave.

His dad faces them both. His gaze and his words are directed at Dave. "Kurt told me what happened yesterday," he says solemnly. "He tells me that without your permission he shared things with Blaine that he had no right to share, and he's pretty scared that he's lost your trust because of that."

Dave doesn't react, just looks out at Kurt's dad with tired eyes.

"So here's the deal – Kurt's spent the last hour or so making some calls and talking to people. If he's right and he's betrayed you in some way you can't get past, he's found some options for you." He pauses, looking over at Kurt to give him a chance to step in and talk.

Kurt shakes his head.

His dad sighs. "Your friend Azimio, he's got a room you can have if you want it. Said something about how it should've been yours this whole time, and his parents are fine with it if you want to go. That coach from school, Sylvester, she doesn't have a spare bedroom but she's got a couch and you're welcome to it. Kurt even talked to your dad."

Dave's eyes move to Kurt.

Kurt looks down at the table, trying not to give anything away. This isn't about him.

"I've gotta say, it's the last thing I'd pick for you, but your dad's willing to let you go back."

Actually, what he said was more along the lines of 'if it keeps him from sleeping in his truck like a bum, his room is still here'. And Kurt isn't sure, he's fairly biased against Paul Karofsky, but even if there was something like hope in the man's voice, the words were enough to convince Kurt that going home is the worst of all of Dave's options.

Kurt's dad clears his throat after a few long moments of silence fall around them. "You've got choices here, Dave. The last thing anyone wants to do after all this is to force you into something you don't want. But I'll be honest, kid – we want you to stay here. I understand if you don't feel like you can, but that stuff about how you're no visitor here...I wasn't just saying that because I love the sound of my own voice."

Kurt risks lifting his eyes and looking over at Dave.

Dave studies him, but his face doesn't really give much away. That's another sting, another mark against Kurt – Dave only really started to guard himself against Kurt last night.

Which makes Kurt wonder, though this is entirely the wrong time for it, if Dave has been able to hide this great love that he supposedly feels, or if it was there for Kurt to see all along and Kurt was just blind to it.

He looks away from Dave before he can start looking for it, or start looking to see if something that used to be there might even be gone now. If the whole conversation with Blaine is moot because maybe Dave doesn't feel the same now that Kurt has hurt him.

His dad clears his throat in the silence. "You can make up your mind whenever you want, Dave, but I'd be slacking in my duties as...foster dad or whatever it is I'm being for you here, if I didn't say something about all this."

Kurt feels Dave's eyes leave him to go back to his dad. He looks up, watching his dad too.

His dad frowns at him, but just for a moment. He turns back to Dave. "I'm disappointed in Kurt, and I've told him as much. What he did was hurtful and irresponsible, and those aren't things Kurt can usually be called. But...because it isn't like him, I've gotta ask myself why he did something so stupid. And I think that's something you need to consider, too, Dave. My kid isn't malicious, and I would hope that you know that about him by now. You think he talked to Blaine about you because it was_ fun_, because he wanted to gossip about it?"

Another pause.

Dave answers, quiet and rasping. "No."

Kurt can feel the moment Dave's gaze comes back to him. It's like a warm but heavy weight on his shoulders, the feel of those eyes.

He draws in a breath to brace himself, and he lifts his gaze to meet Dave's.

Dave's throat works. "Kurt's not like that," he says softly, searching Kurt's face. "I knew I was putting too much on him. He just...needed to talk to someone, I guess." He glances at Kurt's dad, as if to see if that was the right answer, but looks back at Kurt before his dad can say anything.

"I knew last night you were sorry about it. Probably knew the second after I realized what you had to be sorry for. I knew you'd only talk to him about it if you really needed to talk to _some_one. Shit," he says with a twist of his mouth, "every kid at McKinley knows what happened. Pissed as I was I can't act like it's really been this huge secret."

Kurt doesn't answer, but distant and growing hope threatens to squeeze him as painfully as the guilt is already squeezing.

"I think..." Dave frowns, dropping his eyes and bringing an unsteady hand up to rub at his exhausted eyes. "I think that was why it...hurt so much," he says, stumbling on the words a little. "Because I never had a chance to keep it secret, but before yesterday there wasn't anyone I could blame for that. Wasn't anyone's fault that the whole fucking school knew about it before I was out of the hospital, and I've been...so fucking pissed about that. Wasn't until last night that I could actually look at someone and know that they're the one that gave it away. And it was just to one guy, but..." He shrugs, his head bent low, his fingers stilling on his temple, bracing there like he's nursing a headache. "You were the first person I could really blame. So I blamed you for all of it."

"I'm sorry," Kurt says, because he can't keep the words in anymore. "I'm really sorry, for that and for how this whole weekend went, and..."

Dave looks up, meets Kurt's eyes. There's a strange look in his eyes, a strange distance in his gaze, like he's remembering some other time and place. When he answers Kurt gets hit with the same feeling, like this is a memory but being played in reverse:

"I know."

Dave smiles, and even if it's the smallest smile in the history of the universe it's still maybe the most beautiful thing Kurt has ever seen.

Kurt can't return it yet, but he soaks it in, commits it to memory. "What can I do?" he asks, soft. "How do I make it better?"

Dave lets out a breath, almost a scoff. "Besides giving me a home and staying up with me at night and dealing with all my shit and making it all better even when you screw something up? I'll try to think of something."

Kurt does return the smile then, his stomach starting finally to release the clench it's been in since last night. "Will you stay here? I know everything's not better yet, but..."

"I don't know," Dave says with a frown. "The bedrooms at Z's place are _huge_."

Kurt blinks, then laughs. Mostly air, mostly relief, but the clench is gone just like that, because he knows Dave well enough by now to know what he's saying. "I thought I was the superficial one of the two of us."

Dave shrugs with a smile. "Huge, dude. Like, ten foot ceilings and shit."

"Hard to give that up, I understand." Kurt grins.

It fades fast, though. Too easy, letting that be it, letting himself get forgiven so easily. That's too easy, and there's more to what happened yesterday than one secret spoken out of turn.

He hesitates, reluctant to maybe damage the just-repaired mood between them. "Can I ask you something?" he says finally, warning Dave in case he's too tired for anything else serious.

Dave's smile fades. He shrugs. "Might as well."

Kurt almost lets himself shake his head, say never mind. Stall, so he doesn't have to hear any answers he won't be able to accept.

But he's not doing that anymore, damn it. Responsibility is about more than just feeling bad.

"You said...last night, you said I made you feel bad about yourself." Not just bad, though. Worse about himself than anyone else in his life.

He meets Dave's eyes, though it's hard.

Dave doesn't need him to go on. He frowns, but it's not as solemn as it might have been. "You're gonna take this the wrong way, Fancy, but...sometimes you remind me of my dad."

Kurt's eyebrows fly up, and yeah. He could very easily take that badly, since he hates Dave's dad like he doesn't hate anyone else in the world. Except maybe five ex football players from his school.

Dave studies him. "I've kinda told you about him, what he's like. He's not some prick, you know, some drunk who shouts or beats me or something. He's always tried to be the perfect dad, the way he wants me to be the perfect kid. He told me he loved me all the time, like a dad should. But...you know. Dad's _dad_, so it'd be like, 'I'm your dad, David, I love you even if you want to play hockey'. And I'd know as sure as if he said it out loud that what he meant was 'I love you, but I'd love you more if you played football.'"

Kurt nods slowly. He's had his own dad all his life, so this isn't something he understands, really. But it fits with what he knows about Paul Karofsky.

Dave smiles, faint. "Maybe it's me, I dunno, but I hear that kind of thing every time you and me talk. You know? I hear 'we're friends, Dave, I like you, but I'd like you so much more if you...' You know, whatever, if I dressed better or knew more about all this gay stuff you love. We're friends. I don't doubt it, but all I can think about when you're around is that we'd be better friends if I could just change all these stupid little things about myself." He shrugs, heavy. "Sometimes all I can focus on anymore are all the things I'm missing that make me...less."

The worst thing is that none of this is all that big a surprise. Kurt has known, since they had a talk over gyros about gay guys and what they like, that Dave thinks he lacks all these basic things that are somehow vital to being gay.

It occurs to him for the first time that when Dave talks about it, he talks about himself in terms of what _Kurt _does and doesn't like. He told Carole that day when Kurt was listening in on them that Kurt's just the gay guy he's known longest, so he doesn't have anything else to base his ideas on.

But Blaine says Dave loves him. And those words, that confessed insecurity about not being the kind of guy Kurt likes, suddenly takes on a whole new weight.

Kurt isn't ready to sort all that out. He needs to take some time, to figure out his own head before he does anything that will hurt Dave, or Blaine, or all of them at once. He needs a silent room and some focus, and he needs to make sure Dave is okay before he can even attempt to find those two things.

Still, whether Dave's insecurities are there because he loves Kurt, or because Kurt really is just the only person he has for reference, Kurt can at least be completely honest about them.

So he meets Dave's eyes and he speaks sincerely. "I know you pretty well by now, Dave. Better than I know a lot of people, though it seems strange to realize that."

Dave nods, like he feels the strangeness too.

"So I can safely and without any doubt tell you that there isn't much of anything I would change about you, even if I could. I might erase a few bad memories, but that's all. And, okay, I might buy you a better wardrobe. But come on, that's not because you're flawed in some way, it's because I am a total snob. If I had the money I'd buy every single person I know a better wardrobe. Even Mercedes, and she's as close to fabulous as anyone can be without my help."

Dave smiles faintly, his eyes dipping to the table.

"I think it's amazing when you make some reference to a musical or a designer," he admits. "But only as amazing as when you talk about physics theories or cooking, or speaking Russian. Everything I'm learning about you that I never knew about before, it's all amazing to me. Not because I want you to be a Sondheim-loving chef in a babushka or something. They're just little things I didn't know, that I love knowing now."

He reaches out across the table, spontaneous, holding out his hand.

Dave looks at it, and up at Kurt, and with pinking cheeks he reaches out and slides his fingers through Kurt's.

Kurt squeezes his hand gently with a smile. "You know something else? Even if I love the science and the Russian and all those things, I didn't need to learn those things in order to start liking you. I liked you before all that. Not in spite of your coarse jock ways, either: you're coarse, and a jock, and I like you."

Dave's smiles seems almost back to normal by then. Crooked and bashful and sweet, not a beaming grin but something Kurt loves being the cause of even more.

"Want to hear another secret?" Dave asks suddenly.

Kurt blinks, and grins, and swallows down this swell of gratitude that he's gotten this right, and that Dave has _let_ him make things better. He doesn't call attention to it, to the idea that Dave is still willing to trust him with something, even something small. If he puts a spotlight on it it might shrink back, so he just grins and squeezes Dave's hand tightly.

"Sure."

"Well." Dave flushes. "It's possible I may have exaggerated some of those characteristics you seem to like so much."

Kurt raises his eyebrows. "Do tell."

"I only tried to make sushi once, and it was a ridiculous failure. Also, I don't actually know all that much Russian. Despite my grandmother's best attempts."

Kurt laughs. "I don't actually like sushi, to tell you the truth. I'm supposed to, I guess, being fabulous and high-maintenance and classy like I am." He grins. "I did want to hear more Russian, but I guess our friendship will survive all the same." He blinks then. "What did you say to me that night, then? Was it actually real?"

"_Spokojnoj nochi, Vychurnyj?" _Dave grins. "It does mean 'good night, Fancy'. Kind of. I mean, good night's easy, I heard that once a night when I was a kid hanging out at my grandparents' house. _Vychurnyj_ I'm not entirely sure about. My grandmother used to call my mom that, and she thought my mom was kind of prissy and girly. I think it means, like...lacy or frilly or something. Which is close enough."

"I'll take it," Kurt agrees. "You want to hear a secret in return?"

Dave blinks and smiles, like he's surprised that his own confession, however silly, went over so easily. "Sure."

Kurt leans in, tugging Dave's hand closer. "I actually think flannel's really comfortable."

Dave laughs. "You want that shirt, don't you?"

"No! Jesus, no. Comfort isn't worth that brown-over-ecru nightmare." He grins. "The red and white one you were wearing last night..."

"I like that one. You can borrow it sometime, though." Dave grins. "Is it my turn?"

Kurt suddenly looks away from him, around the kitchen, but his dad isn't there. He probably took off a while ago, once he knew things were at least not unfixable.

He relaxes and looks back at Dave. "Confession is open, my son."

Dave rolls his eyes but thinks. "Um. Okay, I actually really fucking love slushies. Like, it pisses me off when I have to waste one on someone's face. I used to bitch at Z all the time. 'Come on, dude, can I fucking _drink_ one now and then?'"

Kurt laughs. "Sometimes I get so obsessed with my clothes and my skin because I think that if those things are perfect nobody will notice that I'm _not._"

Dave blinks at that, but shrugs his understanding. "That's what the letterman jacket's for. When I wear that no one who looks at me notices else."

"I'd rather be called a dude than a girl. There's not a lot that ticks me off more than someone thinking that being gay means I'd wear a skirt and lipstick if I could."

Dave nods. "I'd actually really love being able to wear a skirt and lipstick. Okay, that's complete bullshit, sorry." He grins at Kurt's bark of laughter. "For real, um...you told me that I wasn't your first kiss, right? Because you made out with Britt once?"

Kurt nods with a roll of his eyes.

"Well." Dave grins. "Same here. For all of it."

"God, between her and Santana..." Kurt laughs. "They didn't miss many guys at McKinley, did they?"

"Actually, that's kind of why it happened. We were at some rotten party, it was turning into a fucking pre-teen porno, and Britt comes up to me and says 'I think we're supposed to be doing this now' and lays it on me. It was kind of cool, since she didn't bother acting like she was interested or wondering if I was. Made it easier."

"Still...it's weird, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Dave blushes. "I was still...well, more confused than I am now, about guys and all. I thought maybe I was just, like, immature or something. Like I just hadn't grown out of that 'girls equals cooties' phase from elementary school."

"Oh god, are we getting into awkward secrets about _this?_" Kurt grins, but lowers his voice just in case. "The, um..." He feels his face heat to burning. "Okay, I can't believe I'm telling you this. Um. The first time I ever..." He gestures lamely, a wag of the wrist that makes Dave cackle. "Well, not the first time _ever, _but the first time I did it with someone in mind..." He hesitates, glancing towards the shut kitchen door.

Dave laughs suddenly. "Finn."

Kurt drops his face into his hand. "My _shame_..."

"That's not so bad," Dave says with a shrug. "He's...kind of, um..."

"Yeah." Kurt braves looking up, and smiles at the awkwardness on Dave's face. "Still, at this point it's even worse. Not even because he's my brother, but because it's become _cliché _to have a crush on Finn. Like, everyone at McKinley has one, it's just boring now."

Dave laughs. "Not me. I can...I mean, he's not..." He rolls his eyes at himself. "I can appreciate he's not a dog, you know. But he's not my type."

Kurt breathes in, eyes wide. He drops his chin in his hands, staring. "Go on."

Dave blushes and avoids his eyes. "What?"

"You know what. What is your type?"

The moment after he asks the question, grinning and fascinated, Kurt remembers that asking it is suddenly not appropriate. Not appropriate and, if Blaine and Mercedes are right, not exactly _kind_ either.

But Dave doesn't seem much more embarrassed or hesitant than he was a second before. "Just...guys that aren't much like me, I guess."

A safe answer, and a good one, and one that makes Kurt smile. "I know what you mean," is his almost instant reaction.

Dave's eyebrows rise and he studies Kurt, but he doesn't say anything.

Kurt grins suddenly. "Okay, your turn, but I want to ask you something specific."

"I make no promises about answering, but go ahead."

Kurt leans in, holding Dave hostage with their still-linked hands. "Have you seriously never realized how extremely hot your friend Samir is?"

Dave laughs. "I'm not blind, Fancy, shit." His grin fades, though. "I dunno, he's hot, I get that. But it never goes further than that. Not with Samir and not with a lot of guys. Like, I know I'm queer, I get that, and I know that some guys are hot. But those two things don't...come together, you know? In my head. I think 'I like guys' and 'that guy's hot', but it doesn't become 'I like that guy'."

Kurt nods slowly. "No one ever said you had to be attracted to every guy, though. Not even every one you think is hot."

Dave shrugs. "I know, but for me...it's only happened like a couple of times, when I've actually been able to think about...you know. 'Me and him', like that."

"A couple of times?" Kurt's eyebrows shoot up, but he orders himself not to ask. He doesn't want to know. Not the who or the when or the where.

There's way too much to think about before he can even venture down that path, and he definitely needs to sort himself out before he starts making Dave talk about it with him.

He's lucky, right here and right now without taking another step forward into uncharted domain. He's really lucky, luckier than he has any right to be.

He's lucky Dave has come home, lucky he didn't accept any of the offers for other places to stay that Kurt found for him. He's lucky that Dave understands what happened, that Kurt wasn't trying to hurt him, that he talked to Blaine because he needed to talk to someone, not to spite Dave.

Sitting here talking about random things, sharing goofy secrets, it's like nothing has been irreparably damaged thanks to Kurt.

And for that Kurt Hummel is a lucky, lucky boy, and he needs to keep that in mind.

He still owes Dave. He isn't willing to take Dave's forgiveness so simply. He doesn't accept that Dave was taking a long-held anger and resentment out on Kurt because he was the first one directly responsible for something that other nameless people had already done. He can't forget the betrayal on Dave's face. The hurt. The way that, even if it was short lived, in Dave's eyes Kurt was just as bad as those nameless strangers who had so casually given away his secrets in the halls of McKinley

Kurt refuses to forget that he really is as guilty as those people. His motivations were more complicated and maybe more excusable, but that doesn't make what he did okay.

There's work to do here, and Kurt is ready and willing to step up and do it. But tomorrow is Monday, there's school and a doctor's appointment tomorrow evening, and there's a million things Dave needs to worry about right now.

Laughing at the kitchen table, pretending everything is back to normal even as Kurt can't let go of Dave's hand because he can't bear the idea that he might slip away again, it's another mask. Another panacea, covering up things that they're leaving unsolved.

But Dave needs Kurt as he eases back into his old life, and Kurt needs to think carefully about everything this weekend has revealed. They have to get through the next unavoidable hurdles before they need to worry about the bigger ones that aren't going anywhere.

This is best for Dave – at least for his first week back at school and his second attempt to go to a therapist. It's best for Kurt, because he refuses to hurt Dave again the way he just did, and trying to even begin talking about this before Kurt knows how he feels about it could do nothing but hurt him.

Delaying the talk that they will need to have and leaving things uncertain is the right thing to do, right here and now. The only one it's not fair to is Blaine, but Kurt put himself and Blaine first when he spoke to him about Dave and caused all this trouble. So being fair to Dave over Blaine...that doesn't feel so wrong. It feels like something he owes Dave.

It feels like the first of many things that he owes to Dave.

* * *

><p>tbc<p> 


	25. Chapter 25

_AN: Here's this. :-)_

* * *

><p>The problem, as Kurt sees it, is this: there is simply too much going on.<p>

He wants to lay here in his bed and think things through, because it's dark and silent and he's obviously not going to fall asleep any time soon so it's the perfect time for it. Except all he thinks about as he tries to think about things is there is too _much. _

When he starts thinking to himself that Dave loves him and he needs to figure out what to do about that, he can't even settle in to the idea. Because Blaine says the Dave loves him, and Mercedes thinks so, and Kurt's pretty sure his dad sees whatever the two of them are seeing.

But there is so much going on between Kurt and Dave, so much that Blaine and Mercedes and even Kurt's dad don't realize. Kurt has _never _had a relationship with anyone like the one he has right now with Dave. If he were seeing it from the outside, he might misinterpret things too.

He truly, sincerely likes Dave. That's a certainty, there's no doubt there. Dave is funny and smart and shy, and profane and rough around the edges, and Kurt really likes him.

He doesn't doubt that Dave likes Kurt too – in fact, it's funny to think about, but Kurt feels like he's someone kind of _special_ in Dave's eyes. Dave came into his life different than most people, and maybe that's got something to do with it. Kurt's friends know him as his fabulous snobby self. Dave, maybe because he isn't used to Kurt's kind of fabulous, has always looked for the guy underneath it. The _dude. _The teenage boy, the person under the stylish exterior.

Dave sees him as a guy first, so he calls Kurt a dude and doesn't temper his rough language, and throws him a hideous flannel shirt because, whatever, Kurt's a dude, he should wear it.

Dave isn't shocked when Kurt puts that shirt on. He isn't amazed when Kurt swears, or makes some crude joke, or otherwise relaxes that fabulous exterior of his. And because Dave isn't shocked by it, Kurt is more comfortable doing it.

Kurt has always been a stereotype. He accepts that about himself. He _is _prissy, he does wave his arms and roll his eyes and put way more inflection into his voice than the average teenage boy. He does judge people and wear hundred-dollar socks and listen to musicals and dream of Broadway.

He's a cliché. He knows it, and since that's who he really is he doesn't mind it. He's at least a cliché that's rare in Lima, Ohio. He might fit into a specific type, but he's different from the people around him. He doesn't mind that most people, most of even his best friends, look at him and see the cliché and expect nothing else.

Dave doesn't do that. Dave has never been comfortable with that cliché, and maybe that's why he's so quick to see beyond it.

Kurt has said things to Dave and done things with Dave, casual nothing things, that Dave doesn't even blink at, and that none of Kurt's other friends would accept without a comment. He's more relaxed with Dave, because he doesn't have to fear a reaction is he slips a bit. Because Dave likes the peeks of _dude _that come through when Kurt lets them. Kurt knows who he is and he accepts himself and he likes himself, but with Dave he seems to actually learn more about himself than he ever knew.

Kurt likes _Kurt_ more when he's with Dave.

If Mercedes and Blaine don't even realize that much, about one side of Kurt that gets affected by Dave, then how can they possibly understand the deeper things?

How can they begin to realize how much exists between Kurt and Dave now that can't be called 'friendship' but doesn't automatically mean 'love' either?

Kurt is Dave's caretaker, his bodyguard, his night nurse, his gay mentor. His friend. Kurt doesn't feel about Dave the way he feels about anyone else, but who's to say what it is he _does _feel?

Dave relies on Kurt. He likes Kurt, yeah, and he needs Kurt for help, for advice, for sleep. Dave feels like he still owes Kurt for a couple of months of thrown elbows in the hallways, he's guilty about the person he used to be. There can't be anyone else in his life that he has that many overcomplicated and sometimes-conflicting feelings about.

Mercedes and Blaine don't know Dave. They don't even like Dave. Blaine says that Dave's feelings are obvious, blatant, but how would Blaine know the first thing about interpreting Dave's reactions?

The problem as Kurt sees it, staring out at the darkness from his bed, is that he can't possibly start thinking about what to do about something if he can't even allow that the something is even true.

There's too much between he and Dave, and if Kurt lets himself jump into reacting to something this big if it's not even true, he threatens to destroy all of it. Coming so soon after another giant mistake that almost chased Dave away for good, Kurt isn't willing to risk it.

But he can't ignore it, either. Blaine doesn't know Dave well: that doesn't mean he's right but it doesn't automatically mean he's wrong, either.

And that's something Kurt can't dismiss. What if he's right?

* * *

><p>Kurt thinks and worries and goes back and forth. He thinks until he hits the unavoidable brick wall of not being certain what it is Dave feels, and then he backtracks and starts again until he bounces off the same wall.<p>

Sometime around three in the morning he starts to accept that he isn't going to get any sleep. He's restless, oddly nervous. It feels like the night before a performance, like the churn of stage fright or something. Part of it – a big part – is this constant circular thinking about Dave and Blaine's theory about him, but there's more to it.

In a few hours he's going to school with Dave.

There are plans in motion, of course, and the entire Glee club (guest-starring Azimio Adams) is going to be right out front to meet them, Bully Whip jackets in place. They'll walk walk him from class to class if they have to, they'll step between Dave and anyone or anything that threatens to disturb his return.

But Kurt is worried all the same.

After school is an appointment with the therapist his dad settled on for Dave. Dave's got his truck now but Kurt refuses to let him go alone. Not the first time, not after the last doctor. Luckily Dave didn't argue with that, because Kurt's pretty sure he could have gotten his dad to agree with him and demand it, and that's not something he wants to pull right now.

Between worries about love that he isn't sure is even there, and school and its thousand possible disasters, and a doctor who could potentially permanently destroy Dave's last shreds of willingness to get help...

Well. No wonder he can't sleep.

Later, he'll wonder if some of his insomnia was caused by instinct, by this unconscious realization that if Kurt is worried about tomorrow, Dave must be petrified.

Because being awake at three in the morning means that when he starts hearing noises from the room across the hall, he's out of bed and at Dave's door faster than he might have been otherwise.

Nightmares have become common by now. It's awful to realize that, but it's true. He has developed a reflex for how to handle them. Usually it's Dave in the bathroom that wakes him up.

Tonight it's something different.

He's making noises – hoarse and loud and incoherent, and Kurt can hear him from behind his closed bedroom door but it gets louder as he goes into the hall and stands at Dave's door.

Nightmare, but different. Kurt wakes up at the end of these dreams, not during. Kurt is there to deal with the aftereffects, not the nightmare itself.

He doesn't hesitate for more than a moment, though. He knocks as a courtesy more than anything else, pushing Dave's door open at the same time.

"Dave?" He can't see anything in the dark bedroom, so he reaches back out the door and slaps the hallway light on, and in the carve of light from the hallway the bedroom comes into focus.

Dave is asleep. Trapped. He's still under the covers, but his expression is drawn tight and these sounds escape him. Not words, nothing intelligible, but choked and hoarse and panicked sounds.

Kurt moves to the bed fast. He hesitates, because he hasn't been in quite this position before, but Dave is trapped and Kurt isn't going to let that go on.

He leans in and touches Dave's arm, firm. "Dave?"

Dave flinches in his sleep, head twitching to the side. His arm jerks under Kurt's hand, tugging free of the covers and away from Kurt's touch.

"Dave?" Kurt raises his voice, gripping his arm again instantly. "Dave, wake up!"

Dave tries to escape the touch again, and he's strong even in sleep but Kurt is determined. His fingers close around Dave's wrist and he holds on.

"Dave, please. It's okay, wake up, it's a dream. Dave?"

Dave's murmurs only grow louder, shouts of hoarse noise that sound like there are half-formed words trapped inside. He jerks, and jerks again, and suddenly his eyes are open and the words shape clearly.

"Stop! Stop, stop," he cries out even as his eyes find Kurt. He flinches instantly away from him, jerking his arm free of Kurt's grip with a painful jolt.

Kurt winces, jerking both hands away from Dave. "It's okay," he says, the words falling from him instinctively. "It's a dream. It was just-"

"_Stop_," Dave cries as if he can't hear him, as if he's looking at Kurt but still seeing his dream. "Leave me alone!"

He's awake now, he must be, his eyes are open and focused. But Kurt can tell he's still lost in his dream, and he leans in closer though he doesn't try to touch him again.

"Dave, please. It's okay. It's just me."

"Get _out_!" Dave's eyes are focused, and it looks disconcertingly like he's actually talking to Kurt instead of the pictures in his head. "Get out, get out get the fuck _out!"_

Kurt shakes his head, throat going dry even as he reaches out with uncertain fingers. "It's me," he says again. "Dave, it's okay, it's just-"

"God, Kurt, get out! Get out of-"

There are footsteps behind Kurt, and a shadow across the bed, and Dave jerks back and Kurt snaps his head around.

It takes a bullhorn to wake his dad up once he's asleep, but suddenly he's right there. The light is on in Dave's room and his dad is grabbing at Kurt's arm and pulling as if _Kurt _is the problem here.

"What are you doing?" his dad snaps out, face creased from sleep but his eyes are wide awake. He looks past Kurt at the bed. "Dave?"

"Get him out, get him out." Dave is curled in on himself now, hands over his face, shaking hard. "God, please, get him the fuck out of here."

Kurt shakes his head, stunned when he realizes...it isn't the dream. Dave isn't seeing his nightmare images. He's seeing Kurt standing here, and he's...

No. No, this isn't how it goes. Dave has a nightmare and Kurt helps, that's how it goes. It's been the only help Kurt has really felt able to give him, for so long now.

Kurt turns wide eyes to his dad, backing up on stumbling feet. "Dad..."

His dad doesn't waste time. He grabs Kurt's arm and steers him to the door, grim. "Go on, Kurt."

"But-" Kurt's feet lock into place when he hears a sound from the bed that he knows, knows too well.

Dave is sobbing, fighting against it but sobbing into his hands. Kurt doesn't walk away when Dave needs him. Out of all the uncertainties of his life that is one thing he knows as absolute fact.

When he tries to move past his dad, though, he is all but shoved to the door and out into the hall.

"Kurt! Go!"

He opens his mouth to argue, but his dad shuts the door hard between them.

Kurt's mouth shuts, and he backs up a step. He can hear Dave through the door, hoarse, pained sounds. He can hear his dad's voice, and it's _wrong_. It should be Kurt. Kurt's voice, Kurt in that bedroom.

"Kurt?"

He jumps, looking over at the open door at the end of the hall, unable to meet Carole's worried gaze for more than a second.

He turns and stumbles to his own room, closing the door. He finds his bed, though he's all but blind in the sudden darkness, and he drops on the mattress. He grips at the sheets on either side of him, staring out into the black and trying to make sense out of what just happened.

This isn't new. The nightmares, the terror, the sobs. None of it is new, except that Kurt got to Dave a little bit sooner in the process than usual. Is that it, that Kurt woke him from it instead of finding him already awake? Or is it...

...something else.

He wipes his face in the dark with unsteady hands, the realization of what else has changed in the last few days making him feel sick to his stomach.

It was too easy. The kitchen table, his dad's steady words, Dave's understanding. Their laughter, their lame jokes.

Too easy. Kurt knew it while it was happening, knew it as he lay here in bed unable to sleep. But now, as he sits here on his bed in the darkness, he consciously realizes _why_ it was too easy, and it hits him like a sledgehammer.

He betrayed Dave. Even though Dave understands why, and that it wasn't meant to be malicious, it's still a betrayal. Something between them is cracked, or broken. Something has changed.

Dave doesn't trust him anymore.

Kurt's little epiphany about taking responsibility and owning up to his mistakes and his own shortcomings...it came too late. The damage is done.

He can't help Dave anymore. Not when it matters, not in the middle of the night when his dreams are terrorizing him and Dave needs some kind of reassurance.

Kurt has betrayed him, so Kurt can't do it anymore.

He sits there for a long time, stunned into immobility, before there's a soft knock on his door.

Light from the hallway makes him squint as the door opens.

His dad looks in at him with a frown. He moves into the room, leaving the door cracked enough to be able to see.

Kurt can't look at him. He bends his head and stares down at his hands as his dad sits down beside him.

He speaks, and it hurts, but he has to know if he's right and his dad will tell him. "He doesn't trust me anymore."

His dad hesitates. "He says you were there. In his dream. I think it made him react pretty badly. I don't know if it means anything more than that."

Kurt frowns at that. He thinks back to earlier talks, to Dave apologizing for the kiss in the locker room and admitting that he sees himself hurting Kurt in his dreams. He wants to jump on that, to think that maybe he hasn't hurt thing so deeply between he and Dave. But it feels too easy.

He swallows, staring at his hands as they fist on his lap. "If he was hurting me...like he said he dreamed about, then...then why would he...?"

His dad is silent.

Kurt looks over at him and sees the hesitation in his dad's eyes. The reluctance to answer.

He blinks, and sucks in a breath. He turns to face his dad. "He wasn't hurting me."

His dad frowns. "Kurt, it was a dream either way."

"He wasn't hurting me," Kurt says again, now that he knows he's right. "I...I was hurting him. Wasn't I?"

"It was a _dream_, Kurt. If you read too much into it you aren't doing you or Dave any favors."

Kurt can only sit there, stunned, lost for a way to react to that, as his dad sits with him and says a few more halting words about dreams and what they mean and don't mean. He can only sit there and watch his hands shaking as his dad sighs and pats his leg and tells him to get some sleep, that there's work to do, maybe, but he's sure they'll work it out.

He's sure they'll be okay.

Kurt doesn't watch him go, doesn't look up even when the door is shut and he can't actually see his hands through the darkness.

He doesn't bother saying that his dad being so sure that things will work out means that at least one of them isn't terrified that it's already too late.

* * *

><p>He knocks on Dave's door earlier than usual. He doesn't expect an answer when he calls to Dave, tells him good morning, but he can't help feeling that much lower when no answer comes.<p>

He says something to Dave's door, something inane about taking his shower earlier so Dave can get ready. It's nothing, he doesn't remember the words a moment after he says them, but he does remember the silence that follows.

He stares at the wall in the shower and goes through his morning routines without a shred of thought, and all he can think about is that silence.

He goes downstairs and sits on the couch, ready to go, backpack beside him.

When he realizes that Dave isn't coming down, he's already feeling so miserable that he can't bring himself to react much. He just pulls out his phone and texts Santana.

_We're not coming. Tell everybody to go to class._

He turns off his phone and leaves his book bag on the couch as he climbs up the stairs feeling like he weighs about a thousand pounds. He glances over at Dave's closed door but trudges to his own bedroom.

He drops onto his bed fully clothed, hoping to at least get a little of the sleep he didn't get a moment of last night.

* * *

><p>Kurt wonders if his dad picked this place, this doctor, because it's about as far from the first one as possible.<p>

The office is inside a strip mall right off the highway. There's a Starbucks, a sub shop. A second-hand book store that Kurt never knew existed in his town, and a door in the middle of everything with the wide windows blacked out and a little name plate over the door.

Dave stands at that door for a moment. He glances over at Kurt.

They're silent – they've been silent all damned day – but Kurt gives a small, encouraging nod.

Dave lets out a breath and pulls the door open.

Kurt moves in behind him and the door shuts out the bright daylight outside, and he looks around warily.

There's no desk in the small front room. No receptionist, nothing but a row of plain black armchairs and a table with some magazines. There's quiet music playing, almost the same tuneless, coma-inducing melody the last place was piping in. But the walls are a lovely rose color, things are quiet and calm and he isn't instantly on edge the way he was at the last place.

Which doesn't mean he's anything like relaxed, of course.

There's a door in the back, and on the wall over the door a small green light is burning.

Dave goes over to the wall and sits, looking lost without a form to fill out or someone telling him what to do.

Kurt sits beside him.

"If it's anything like the last place," he says into the strained silence, "walk out. We'll go home."

Dave nods.

They wait.

The door in the back opens after a few minutes (Kurt checks his watch and grudgingly decides not to grumble when he realizes that it's still five minutes before the appointment). A woman comes out. "David?"

Dave stands up.

Kurt studies the woman, tense, worrying about letting Dave go back into any office with any doctor. She's Indian – the name on the plate outside gave that away, and Kurt won't embarrass himself by even trying to sound that name out – and younger than he expected. There are lines around her eyes but her hair is dark and full and pulled back in an artful and conservative way.

She's actually kind of lovely, though he notes that with suspicion instead of appreciation. Her eyes are so dark they look black, her skin is dusky and lined and she smiles at Dave the way Carole smiles at any of her boys.

She approaches them – Kurt notes her simple, stylish pencil skirt with reluctant approval – and stretches out her hand to Dave. "I've heard quite a lot about you, Dave," she says with a smile.

He reaches out hesitantly, glancing back at Kurt for a confused moment. "You have?"

She smiles and follows his gaze to Kurt. "You must be Kurt?"

Kurt hesitates, but pushes to his feet and shakes her hand. "Hi."

"Please, come back to the office."

Kurt blinks. "Me?"

"Both of you. Please. At least for the first few minutes."

Kurt and Dave share another look, but at least they're confused and unsure together, instead of being unsure and apart the way they have been all day.

Her office isn't much different than the lobby outside. The same ducky rose walls, simple black furniture. A narrow desk, a wall of books, diplomas on the wall. It's not much different than Kurt might have expected from a therapist's office, and he almost comes close to relaxing a little even while he wonders why she wants him inside.

She motions at a couple of armchairs, and takes a seat at a third chair against the wall, away from her desk. "I'd like to tell you both a little bit about myself and what I'd like to do here, and we can go from there. Alright?"

She's got an accent, faint and musical, and she meets their eyes and waits for their reactions before going on. Kurt knows that this is about Dave, and he has no idea how Dave is feeling right now, but his own instinct is to let down his guard and give the woman a chance.

She waits for Dave's nod before going on. She smiles at them both, soft and calm. "To get this out of the way, my full name is Madhuri Cheemalavagupalli. Most of my patients call me Doctor Maddie. If they are fond of irony they shorten it to Doctor Mad."

Kurt smiles. He glances over at Dave.

Dave watches her, still wary as ever.

"Your father," she says with a smile at Kurt, "spoke to me at great length about the two of you. I have also spoken to your doctor at Lima General, Dave, as well as Doctor Sampson."

They both tense at the name of that first doctor, the psychiatrist.

She watches them both as she talks, and Kurt has no doubt that she's made a mental note of their reactions. "Before we get further into that – and I would like, Dave, if you would tell me in your own words why you've come – I'd like to talk to you, Kurt."

Kurt blinks. "What about me?"

"When your father told me Dave's story, he couldn't go very long at a time without mentioning you. He was telling me about Dave's situation, but it's clear to me that his story links with yours in a rather inextricable way. If you decide that you are comfortable seeing me, Dave, and we plan a schedule of visits, I will insist that Kurt join you for at least some of those visits. Frankly, Kurt, I wouldn't mind scheduling you to come see me on your own every once in a while. If you would be open to that, of course."

Kurt hesitates. He wasn't prepared to meet the woman at all, much less talk about setting up some kind of session with her.

"Probably a good idea, Kurt."

He turns instantly, facing Dave.

Dave glances over and smiles, awkward. "Just saying."

Kurt returns the smile faintly. He looks back at the doctor and nods. "Yeah. We can do that."

"Good." She looks at the two of them for a moment, and her smile is soft and her voice is musical, but her eyes are sharp. Kurt has a feeling she's seeing more than either of them realize.

"I must say," she says after a moment, "the way your father spoke about the two of you, I wasn't expecting this tension between you. I suspect it's more than apprehension about seeing another doctor."

Kurt's smile vanishes. He looks away from her.

"It's been a rough couple of days," Dave says finally, a rumble in his voice.

She waits, and when neither of them keep going: "There's no set structure to these sessions, not even this first one. The most important thing when you're here is to address the things that are affecting you most. Is this something you feel like it's important to talk about?"

Kurt sneaks a glance over at Dave.

Dave frowns out at her. He looks over at Kurt.

Kurt doesn't answer, and he won't. He'll come see the doctor if she wants, if Dave thinks it's a good idea, because he probably ought to. But in the end this isn't really about him.

Dave looks back at Doctor Maddie. "Does talking about this shit to a stranger ever actually help anything?"

She smiles. "You'd be surprised. It isn't a cure-all, of course, but talking in general can help a great deal more than most people suspect. It often surprises my new patients to tell me very basic, very important things and then realize that they have never actually spoken those things aloud before."

Dave lets out a breath.

She nods at him, encouraging. "It's important to you to work this out, then, this rough couple of days."

"Yeah. Of course." He doesn't look at Kurt. "It fucking sucks being on..." He stops. "Uh. Is it okay to...uh..."

She laughs softly. "I don't expect you to temper your words around me, Dave."

"Okay. Then, yeah, this fucking sucks." He glances at Kurt and away again fast. "Kurt's...he's like the one person who's been here through all of this, and I fucking hate when things are bad like this."

She looks over at Kurt.

He hesitates, still uncertain about taking up Dave's time with his own feelings. "I think I'm starting to do him more harm than good. I don't know how to make that better."

Dave's eyes jerk back to him, surprised.

Kurt looks over. "I keep screwing things up. Just when things feel like they're okay, I mess it up."

"Give me a break, Fancy. You did one thing that pissed me off, and I already told you that I get why you did it."

"So why am I hurting you in your dreams?"

"Because my dreams are fucked up. But it's better than me hurting _you, _which I seem to remember you telling me doesn't mean shit because the stuff I did in my dreams I never did in real life."

"That's not the point." Kurt frowns, but they've been silent all day and he hasn't had a chance to ask Dave about any of this, and even if he didn't plan to talk now he can't stop himself. "The point is that you hurt me in your dreams because you felt guilty about what actually happened once. So if I'm hurting you now that means something too. It means I've hurt you once and maybe you think I'll do it again, or..."

"Kurt." Dave frowns. "It's not the first time I've had that dream."

Kurt's mouth slams shut. He can all but feel the color leak from his face.

"It's just the first time I opened my eyes and you were still there, still holding onto me." Dave looks away, frowning, and his eyes catch on the doctor. "Dreams don't have to mean anything, right?"

"They don't have to," she agrees. "Dreams come from a subconscious part of a person's mind that operates both asleep and awake. It's important to consider a dream in the light of day, when your conscious mind is working as well." She regards Dave. "What do _you_ think the dreams mean?"

"I dunno." Dave sits back, frowning. "I think I get nervous sometimes, because...I don't know, because I feel like I need Kurt too much, and he's got all this control now and...we used to hate each other, so what if he starts hating me again?" He shrugs. "I know he's not gonna attack me in some way, that part's retarded. But he could hurt me almost as bad as those assholes did."

Kurt draws in a shallow breath. "I already have. Hurt you. Maybe not as badly as..." He stops, shakes his head. "I want to do everything right. I want to help you."

"I'm not gonna freak out if you're not perfect, Kurt. I ask too fucking much from you already." Dave smiles suddenly, small and wry. "I always fucking ask too much from you. I should know better by now."

Kurt blinks at that, turning in the wide armchair to face him.

Dave glances over at the silent doctor, and back at Kurt. "You know how I keep stalling talking to you about that creepy shit I pulled on you after the locker room, after I kissed you like that?"

Kurt nods.

"I think you're gonna take it wrong, that's half of why I don't want to speak up about it. Because most of it was me thinking some completely dumb shit and blaming you for all of it. But..." He frowns, scratching a hand through his hair in a strange nervous gesture. "But some of it was you, too."

"So tell me."

Dave shakes his head, but he turns suddenly to Doctor Maddie. "Fuck this, I'll tell _you_. I don't know what Kurt's dad told you about me before all this shit happened, but...I've been in a fucking closet most of my life, and last year I thought it would be just fucking awesome to take everything out on Kurt."

She sits back, nodding. "Why Kurt?"

"Because. You ask him about closets and he'll talk about clothes. I don't care whether he told people he was gay or not, he has never fucking spent a single minute in a closet. And it pissed me off." Dave shrugs. "And, whatever, I was pretty generally screwed up back then. I was ready to blow and he was the most obvious target."

Kurt isn't sure what his dad told the doctor about their relationship before Dave was attacked, but his dad doesn't know a lot of it. Still, the doctor is able to put things together eerily quickly.

"And then you kissed him."

Dave laughs. "Typical, right? Homophobic bully is actually a closet-case. He chased me down. I smacked him or pushed him or whatever I was always doing and he came after me. Followed me into the locker room and..." He shakes his head. "He was like one of those fucking chihuahuas chicks carry around in their purses. He comes in barking at me like some tiny little mutt, all pissed off, blasting me for being one of those straight guys who hates gay guys because he thinks they all want to get in his pants. And half of it was me being pissed at his smug outrage and wanting to show him he was so fucking wrong. And most of it was because for just one second I wanted someone in the world to actually see me when they looked at me."

The doctor nods. "I have counseled gay men and women before, and if your story isn't typical than the emotions behind it are."

Dave seems to relax a little at that, as if he had been waiting for her to be shocked at his being gay.

Kurt realizes suddenly that even though everyone knows about Dave now, he still hasn't actually told many people at all.

"Well. It's the dumbest fucking thing I have ever done, and it only made everything worse. Not for a fucking second did it actually..." He hesitates. "No, that's not true." He glances at Kurt, then back at the doctor. "There was a second. Like one second, after I grabbed him and kissed him and pulled back. One second when I thought...you know, that was okay. I kissed a guy and it was _okay_, it wasn't strange, wasn't wrong. It wasn't anything like a real kiss, I knew that. It _was _wrong, doing it like that. But it felt okay. For a second I thought...I can do it. I can kiss a guy and the world won't end. Everything would maybe even be okay." He flashes a hard smile. "Shit, I tried to do it again. But Kurt shoved me away, and I saw how fucking scared he looked, and..."

Kurt speaks up, fast, and he shouldn't but he hates it when this comes up. He hates to know that Dave compares himself to rapists because of that moment.

He speaks firmly, staring out at the doctor so that she understands perfectly what he's saying. "He saw that I looked scared, and he ran out of there. He could have done anything he wanted, and he _left."_

The doctor looks over at him. "It's important to you that I know that."

"You and Dave both, because he never seems to get it. Because he still think he has anything in common with the kind of person who would...because he doesn't _get _it!" He turns to Dave, heated. "Rape is about forcing someone who doesn't want you. The first time you kissed me you weren't thinking about what either of us wanted. You told me yourself, it wasn't a come-on. It had nothing to do with sex. You weren't thinking about whether I wanted it or not. And when you saw that I didn't, you _ran. _Because you _aren't _the kind of person who would force someone against their will."

Dave meets his eyes. He swallows, and nods, and looks back at the doctor. "Okay. So I'm still dealing with that. I get what he's saying, and I don't...I know I'm not some rapist. But sometimes it's hard to separate..." He trails off, heaving a breath. "Anyway, that's not even the fucking point. The point is what came after that."

Kurt sits back, pressing his mouth shut tightly to keep from going on. At least Dave seems further along about the difference between a kiss and what happened to Dave. He's still not where Kurt wants him to be about the whole thing, but he's closer.

"What came after that?" Doctor Maddie asks.

Dave laughs, hollow. "_Nothing_."

Kurt looks over at him.

The doctor regards him silently.

Dave draws in a breath. He twists in his chair suddenly, facing Kurt. "Okay, look...you don't get it. I told you about how I used to think that being gay meant being some campy, girly queer like the ones on tv, right? I had this fear from the moment I realized I liked guys, that the moment I accepted that I would turn into one of those guys. Every fucking day I lived with that. I knew what I was but I fought it ever fucking second. I was terrified that everything I did would give me away - I couldn't get dressed in the morning without being scared I'd wear something too gay. The day I got my letterman jacket sophomore year was the best fucking moment of the whole year, because suddenly I was spared that one battle every morning.

"But that was just one thing. Do you have any clue what it's like to...Jesus, Kurt, every time I spoke I had to be careful how I sounded, and what I said. Every time I moved I had to watch out, had to be careful not to wave my hands too much, give myself away. By last year I was terrified to make a fucking move without looking around at the other guys, the ones I was supposed to be like. Coach would ask a question and I'd have to do a fucking scan of the room to see what everyone else said before I knew how to answer. Every time someone called something 'gay' I'd turn into a fucking nervous wreck. And I play football in high school, that word was fucking _everywhere." _

He's right, and Kurt's smart enough to realize it. Kurt wasn't always out, wasn't always open about liking boys. But he has always been _him. _He has never lived in fear of every word or gesture.

He chose it once, chose to try to play it straight. It's not the same thing at all, because people looked at him like he was nuts and he expected that. But it was still ridiculously hard to keep in mind every moment that he couldn't say what he'd normally say, or move how he normally would.

Dave isn't hiding some campy arm-waving stereotype, but the fear that he was would be enough to make his life hell.

Dave frowns, studying Kurt. "By last year I was so fucking exhausted living that way. I thought...that day in the locker room, I thought that was me snapping. But it wasn't, because I took off out of there and Z was hanging out in the parking lot, and I was right back to watching every word and every move I made, like nothing had happened."

Kurt swallows and nods. He doesn't understand and he won't pretend to, but he can get close enough to understanding.

"Wasn't until I got home that I realized. Even if I wasn't done hiding...I was, because I had just given myself away. I just kissed a guy, and not just a guy. The big-mouthed gossipy gay kid from glee club. The kid who fucking hated me, who would probably love nothing more than to bury me."

Kurt draws in a breath suddenly, getting the first inkling of what it is that Dave's getting at.

"I knew the glee club had to know. Before I even got home, I was sure you at least texted your giggly little gal friends, and fucking Finn probably heard all about it. It was out. I knew it. The next day I puked twice before I even got to school. Z came up to me in the hall that morning and I knew he knew. He knew and he was gonna beat the shit out of me for being a queer. But nothing happened."

Kurt's head is shaking, but he stops it when he realizes. When he thinks about the time after that kiss, and he for the first time thinks about it from Dave's perspective...

"All day, nothing fucking happened. I was wired to fucking blow, and every time I passed one of the glee geeks I _knew _they were giggling about me, gossiping. I knew they _knew_, but no one said anything. No one did anything. You told them, I knew it. You had to have told them, because you despise me and there's no reason not to tell them. But nothing fucking happened. At least until after fifth period."

"Oh, god." Kurt drops his eyes.

"Before I could even think about relaxing for even a second, suddenly there you were in the middle of the school, between classes, with everyone fucking around us. And not just you, but you and a total fucking stranger. Some douchebag in a uniform. Then I knew I was right. You were telling people. And not just telling them, inviting them to school and bringing them right up to me so they could see the asshole closet-case for themselves. And yeah, Blaine made some kind of speech about how he could _help _and I wasn't _alone, _but come on."

Kurt nods. "I know. I know how stupid it was."

"I took off from there and knew it wasn't over yet. That night Z texts me about some shit he heard at school, and I was halfway through a conversation before I realized he was talking about fucking _Puck _and some shit he pulled over at the mall."

Dave looks over at the doctor, pausing for a minute uncertainly. She just nods at him, slight and encouraging.

He sighs and turns back to Kurt. "It took me a week of days just like that, being fucking terrified every time one of the gleeks passed me, every time I went to practice, every time I saw you in the halls. And every day that nothing happened was just one day worse, because the longer it took the bigger that shit was going to be. I knew it." He shakes his head, meeting Kurt's eyes.

He isn't hiding himself now. There's nothing guarded in his face, and Kurt wants to gasp at the strain in his eyes. The memory of those days.

"It was the worst week of my life, Kurt. Well, until recently. But it was, it was fucking horrible. Every minute of every day I was terrified. And when I couldn't take it anymore I came to you, and for the first time since that fucking kiss you mentioned that you weren't going to actually tell anyone." He laughs, sick. "You bet your ass that I was pissed off. I was making myself sick, and you were so fucking casual about it. 'I know it's hard, whatever, I won't tell anyone'. So fucking calm. And I fucking _hated_ you."

Kurt nods. It hurts to hear, but it's nothing he didn't know. He saw the hate in Dave's eyes, it's the thing that scared him most.

He just didn't realize before now that the hate only showed up a week after that kiss. He avoided Dave, yeah, because how the hell was he supposed to react to what happened? But he didn't understand what that avoidance must have felt like for Dave.

Dave looks across at him suddenly and smiles. "So...that was half of it."

"_Half_?" Kurt's voice is weak. He sucks in a breath and holds it. "God, what else is there?"

Dave shrugs. "The me being a dumbass part. The part where I was expecting too much and blaming you for it."

Kurt leans in, terrified but taking this on. Responsibility, and penance.

"Don't laugh, but...when I wasn't hating you for telling everyone about me, since I was sure you were, I was waiting for you to..." He smirks. "To _help _me."

Kurt shakes his head, uncertain.

"I mean, you knew. You were gay, you went through your own shit, and you knew about me. I thought...you're probably a good person, better than me at least. You know there's a kid walking around going through this huge thing, surely you'd do something. Instead you bring me your fucking boyfriend, play 'look at the closet-case' with him, and when his little line about me not being alone didn't make me sob rainbows and fall into some gay-pride group hug, you were fucking _done _with me."

He holds up a hand before Kurt can react. "Don't say it, because I know it's bullshit. I don't justify threatening you and pulling the shit that I pulled. I know I'm the fucking bad guy in the story, and you're the hero, and trying to blame you for not solving my problems for me is such a crock of shit I can't believe I'm admitting it." He draws in a breath, and it's watery and unsteady. "I terrorized you, but I never stopped thinking that one day you'd hunt me down, corner me somewhere private and actually fucking talk to me about it...at least, I thought it might happen until the day I got expelled."

Kurt shuts his eyes, unable to respond.

"I earned it. I know that. But...I was still fucking stunned by it. And I knew that day, finally, that you weren't going to help."

"Oh my God," Kurt says, the words startling out of him before he can stop them. "You said...that's the day you..." He has to cover his mouth, hide a choke of air, a sob. "That bottle of pills."

"Yeah." Dave doesn't stall or deny it. "And you were a part of that. My dad was a big part, and the fact that I just went through those few weeks of hell only for everything to go back to how it was before...that was most of it."

"I'm sorry." Kurt pushes out of his chair and goes to Dave. He grabs his hand and pulls him up, and he buries his face in Dave's shirt and hugs him so tightly it's hard to breathe. "I'm sorry, god, I'm so sorry."

"Wasn't your fault," Dave says, gripping Kurt just as tightly. "I know that. Believe me, I know it. I brought everything on myself, and I hated you for not being a better person than any fucking body in the world would be. It's not your fault that you were scared. And it's not your fault that you're still human now, and sometimes you do something that's not perfect."

Kurt shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

Dave laughs softly against Kurt's hair. "If there's anything to be sorry for...then I accept your apology."

Kurt pulls back to look at him.

Dave's got tears in his eyes, but his smile is gentle and small and real. "I forgive you."

Kurt laughs, and it does help. He pushes back against Dave and holds on to him, and he's broad and warm and solid and not pushing Kurt away.

He's done a lot of stupid things in regards to Dave. Some of them are justified, some aren't. Some of it he can let go of thanks to Dave's forgiveness. Some of it is going to take a lot more work.

But Dave forgives him, and he's willing to hug Kurt back and stay in his home and allow him to play his nursemaid role. Dave is nice enough to even be grateful for it, for Kurt.

Today has been awful. From the nightmare last night to the crushing disappointment of the morning, to the long, silent day at home that Kurt's dad didn't even blame him for later. All the way up to the silent, tense drive to this office, because even if Kurt's dad will support his skipping school after a night like that, he's still holding firm to the therapy.

Even if this has brought up more issues than it's resolved, he feels like he's got Dave back after losing him at Breadstix on Saturday.

"Holy shit," Dave says after a minute, "this talking crap really does help, I guess."

Kurt grins and pulls back and wipes his eyes so he can look at Dave clearly. "That's one of the two important lessons I'm taking away from this."

"Yeah?" Dave meets his eyes, smiles. "What's the other one?"

"Never again to take Blaine's advice about anything. Ever."

Dave laughs, low and hoarse. "Good lesson."

* * *

><p>Doctor Maddie schedules appointments for them – two for Dave the next week, and one for Kurt. She tells them, smiling and gentle, that she might not book them together all that often, since they seem to do fine without her input. Kurt's only half-sure she's joking.<p>

He does know that he'll tell his dad when he gets home that he feels okay sending Dave to her. And that in itself is such a huge relief that it makes the entire day worth it.

On the drive home they make a _shawarma _run, and Samir isn't there but a few other members of the owner's apparently enormous and thoroughly beautiful family is, and they all recognize Dave and meet Kurt like a long-lost brother.

When they drive home Kurt reaches out and takes Dave's hand, and he holds it all the way home. Dave smiles and slips their fingers together and keeps on talking about all the gossip he knows about Samir thanks to that family.

Kurt can't bring himself to worry about whether he's sending a mixed message, whether Dave loves him, whether he's reading something into it that Kurt doesn't mean. He doesn't even worry about what it is he _does _mean.

He just knows that he really wants to hold Dave's hand, and he's going to for as long as Dave lets him.

* * *

><p>tbc<p> 


	26. Chapter 26

_AN: Keep in mind, guys, that this story is entirely from Kurt's POV. There are things that he thinks about and dwells on and believes that may not even rate in any other characters' minds. In other words...there's a difference between Kurt being blamed for everything, and Kurt feeling guilty for everything. _

_Also, I've worked things out by now and I can safely say that this story has about four more chapters to go, right to an even 30. So for those who have been patient with me from the beginning, the end is in sight now. _

_And, on that note, let's go to school. ;-)_

* * *

><p>Kurt pulls into the McKinley parking lot, as usual taking a spot near the back, facing away from the school so that the morbid reality of where he is won't have to kick in right away. He turns off the engine and sighs, looking out at the grass and asphalt in front of him.<p>

After a moment he turns to the passenger seat.

Dave flashes him a grin. "Nothing to it, right? Just another boring day at school."

Kurt raises his eyebrows, smiling a little more gently. "You seem pretty confident for someone who looks like he's about to puke."

Dave's smile twists into a grimace and drops away. He doesn't look _that _bad; a little drawn, pale as a ghost, but he's looked worse. Kurt doesn't like the way his jaw is clenched, and the darkness of the shadows under his eyes, or his hands twisting in the handles of his backpack like he wants to strangle something.

But he's here. He's trying. And that's all Kurt can ask from him, really.

From the rest of the world...that's a different story. He's got a whole list of demands he's ready to make on the kids at McKinley, the teachers who are usually so blissfully apathetic to what their students go through. The football team, the glee club. He's got expectations for the whole lot of them that he's ready to enforce, hard.

Kurt Hummel has never been anyone's idea of a tough guy, even when he's at his fiercest. Dave himself described Kurt as a ticked off chihuahua, which...okay, cute, but not the most flattering comparison.

But he's ready to kick all kinds of ass today, if anything goes off plan. He may not be big or strong or whatever, but he's stubborn. And even a chihuahua can hurt when it bites.

And he really needs to let go of that metaphor before this day gets too far along.

He reaches over and holds out his hand. "I told you...there are people here for you. This is going to be okay."

"I know. And I'm not gonna pussy out or anything. Just..." Dave sighs and looks over, smiling a little at Kurt's outstretched hand. He reaches out.

Kurt can't help but relax a little bit, smiling crookedly at his slender little fingers against Dave's broad, rough hand. "We're pretty early, we can take a few minutes."

Dave's smile fades. For a moment his fingers tighten against Kurt's. "I tried to work this shit out last night, you know? Since I wasn't gonna get any sleep anyway, I went around and around about it. It's not like those fuckers are still here. It's not like I think half the school's ready to jump me now that they're gone. I just...shit." He sighs, squinting at the rearview mirror at the building behind them.

"It's okay to be nervous."

"Yeah." He glances over at Kurt, almost sheepish. "I just wish I knew what I was nervous about. It's just the fucking _school_."

Kurt doesn't answer – Dave needs to vent and he gets that, he doesn't have to add in that he's nervous, too, that he's feeling so high-strung he actually _might _bark at the first person who tries to come at Dave through him.

Like Dave says, it's just McKinley. A pack of teenagers isn't the most empathetic, calm sort of group a guy could surround himself with, but they're not bad people. Kurt's been here, he knows there hasn't been any kind of change in the air. It's the same faces as the kids he's gone to school with for the past three years.

But they're teenagers, and they've got a history of idiotic behavior. As nice as teenagers can be one on one, in the corridors of a high school things can change so fast.

Dave doesn't need to hear all that. His worries are probably more visceral anyway – seeing a pack of letterman jackets move past, maybe, or facing down the first people who confront him about being gay. Passing the gym, the locker room, knowing what went on in there. God, that in itself was a nightmare for Kurt, and he wasn't burdened with memory. Just too much imagination.

He looks out at the road ahead of them and tries not to think too wistfully about just starting the engine and driving away, worrying about all of this tomorrow. Stalling isn't good, and Dave made up his mind to do this last week. He's already been dwelling on it for too long.

Dave lets out a breath into the silence and his fingers seem to twitch, tighten, against Kurt's for a moment before he lets him go. "Screw it, let's just go in."

Kurt opens his door and slips out of the Escalade. He pulls his backpack up over his shoulder, locks the car. Moves around to the back.

Dave is frowning at the school, at the cars moving through the parking lot and the kids in their clusters around the entrance.

They don't get halfway across the asphalt before a determined figure in a shiny black jacket comes at them from the other side of the parking lot.

Dave grins out at Santana when he sees her, and Kurt can't tell if it's real happiness or just the donning of a mask. "Hey."

She studies him as she moves up, but returns the grin with just a little bit of fierceness. "Puckerman put twenty bucks on you wussing out."

Dave snorts. "Sucker bet."

She seems to relax at that, moving up to Dave and throwing an arm around his waist, shooting a look past him at Kurt. "You ignore my texts again, Hummel, and it's gonna get _Adjacent _all up ins."

He blinks innocently. "My battery died. Strangest thing." And of course it didn't, of course he didn't want to talk to anyone at all during the strange, horrible day most of yesterday was. But she'll probably understand that. And if not she can argue about it later, when Dave's not right here and already tense enough to snap

She snarls at him half-heartedly before looking up at Dave, still caught in her one-armed grip. "Come on, my new fake boyfriend should be around here somewhere."

He smirks and throws his arm over her shoulder. "Shit, I didn't think about it like that. Is there some former-fake-boyfriend protocol I ought to be following? Do I need to threaten to fake kick Z's ass if he fake hurts you?"

"I got that covered," Santana answers with something like real cheer, pulling him along towards the school.

Kurt follows at Dave's other side, watching the growing numbers of kids warily.

"He's supposed to fake-hurt me, anyway, that's the whole idea."

"Yeah, see, I know I said I wasn't gonna judge that whole plan you and Britt worked out," Dave says, his smile still in place but stretching thing as they approach the school, "but I really don't want to know details. Let me think that this retarded melodrama is actually spontaneous. If I know about hours of planning and forethought I'm just gonna snap and mock you."

"You can try, jock itch." She smiles over at him sweetly. "I'll just tell you that the whole thing was Britt's idea, and you'll feel too guilty to mock."

He considers that. "It _is _kinda like kicking a puppy in the face, isn't it?"

"If by puppy you mean incredibly sexy piece of asssss..." Santana trails off through a sudden wide, fake smile. "Oh, what do you know? The whole pack's here."

Kurt glances sideways at her: she may be a tough Adjacent biyotch but the girl is _not_ an actress. At least not outside the role of Fake Girlfriend.

But Dave doesn't seem to care about whether her surprise is genuine or not. He gets too stuck on what it is she's looking at when she flashes that smile.

Thanks to the Glocks in the group there is a certain distant layer of authority to the entire pack of New Directions when they move together, but on the whole they still look more or less like a pack of pound puppies to keep Chihuahua Kurt company.

And okay, what is going on with the dog metaphors?

Still, you dress this pack of mutts in matching black jackets and cluster them in a tight group and point them at someone...they almost seem like they could actually do a little damage.

It helps that Puck and Lauren are bringing up the back, flashing their typical badass glares at everyone who gives the group of them a second look. It _doesn't _help that Rachel and Finn are leading the charge, and that Rachel's toothy ingenue smile and Finn's dopey smile are firmly in place as they approach.

Dave seems taken aback, and Kurt can't tell yet if it's in a good way or a bad way.

Someone must have explained this to Rachel in acting terms – 'let's pretend to be bodyguards!' - because she stops in front of Santana and clamps her feet together and it's all theatre 101.

"New Directions, reporting as ordered!" She might as well salute.

Santana glares at her.

Rachel beams.

Luckily before this can turn into an expression-off Finn ambles in between the two girls, nodding at Dave. "Hey, man. Glad you came."

Dave regards the group uncertainly, but since he moved in to Kurt's house he and Finn have gotten at least a little closer than they were thanks to shared games of Halo and screaming profanities at eleven-year-olds on Live.

So Dave relaxes a little at Finn's greeting, returns that oh-so-hetero nod Kurt just can't stop rolling his eyes at.

"So, we're gonna walk you to class or whatever," Finn goes on when no one else steps up to say anything. "Make sure people leave you alone. You know."

Dave blinks at him, and over at Kurt as if sure instantly that this is Kurt's idea. "The _glee club _is gonna protect _me._"

"That's what _I _said," Rachel says instantly, perkiness undimmed by Santana's stare. "But of course there is strength in numbers, and even if your position at this school has for the most part been elevated above ours, you are one person. We are a group."

Kurt just shrugs when Dave's incredulous look doesn't fade. "I enjoy the irony myself."

"Yo, Big D!" Azimio Adams suddenly breaks through the group, striding up with his letterman jacket on and a filled-to-the-brim bright red slushie cup in his hand. He elbows between Rachel and Finn.

Dave tenses, but Kurt notices with something like pride that his eyes stick on the slushie more than the jacket. If the old red and white of the letterman bothers him, he doesn't show it.

Azimio grins. "I knew the hippie love-in out here was gonna throw you off a little bit. These kids..." He shakes his head, leaning in though his voice is still pitched as loud as ever. "They're alright, you know, whatever, but _shit_. You let these losers lead you into this school without at least one of your boys with you and they gonna think they got some kind of position here suddenly."

"Excuse me?" Mercedes pipes up from somewhere behind Finn.

Azimio ignores her. Kurt is not surprised by that. "So this is what I'm thinking. I'm thinking it's your first day back, you've had some tough days lately, you deserve some kind of treat." He stretches out the slushie to Dave. "You get a freebie."

Dave reaches out and takes the cup, and Kurt notices with something like amusement that half the glee club crowded in behind Azimio follow that cup with alarmed eyes.

Dave doesn't seem to know how to react, but there's some distant amusement in his voice as he takes the cup. "A freebie."

"Hell yeah. You get to hit any one of these fucking nerds with this drink, and none of them are allowed to get mad at you. They still gotta follow you around all day like true fucking Bullywhips."

"_Excuse_ me?" Mercedes isn't one to let herself be ignored. She moves up past Rachel, staring at Azimio with her best oh-no-you-di'int eyes. "I don't remember anybody electing your sorry ass leader of this group."

Azimio turns a grin to Dave instantly. "If you pick her make sure to get it in her hair. Sisters love that shit." He moves in, elbowing Kurt out of the way and throwing an arm around Dave, effectively flanking him with Santana still fastened to his other side. "And I'm-a tell you why my boy here gets to brain one of you choir nerds with that frosty goodness. Because I was there when you motherfuckers had to be talked into doing this shit."

Maybe it's Dave's silence and stillness. Maybe it's the fact that he still looks distantly like he's going to be sick, or the way his clothes hang off his too-thin body. Maybe because the cup in his hand is shaking a little bit. Maybe because they're actual decent human beings and genuinely felt bad when they got out of rehearsal the day Kurt asked them for help.

Whatever it is, Azimio's reminder of that day makes Artie and Mercedes and Rachel seem to slump a little. Artie wheels his chair back just a bit, as if Azimio just effectively ended the argument.

Dave's amusement fades as he seems to understand what Azimio is saying. He glances over at Kurt, his expression unreadable.

Kurt doesn't speak, though he can't really argue. Most of the group in front of them did resist the idea of helping, even though they all knew how hurt Dave was. Most of them had to be talked or threatened into it.

But that isn't the kind of cloud Dave needs hanging over him right now. If the glee club is the group that's here for him now, he should be allowed to think that they at least want to be here.

Dave frowns over the group. He lofts the slushie cup experimentally, as if getting himself used to the weight again. "I don't know what Kurt or Santana or Z or whoever told you to make you come here," he says, and his words are soft and hesitant. His nerves are still showing. "But I get it if you don't want to stick around."

A few eyes go to the side, a few looks get exchanged. Kurt sees the glare Puck levels on Lauren, and the way Lauren glares back as if suddenly offended by his thinking she's anything but all-in.

Rachel takes a sudden step forward. "I would just like to say, for the record, that as the child of two gay fathers I will always come to the aid of anyone who fears being ostracized for their sexual orientation." She stares at Dave, chin in the air. "And though my objections the other day had nothing to do with you and _everything _to do with the disruption of a vitally important rehearsal, if it will fulfill some sort of karmic debt against the New Directions I will offer myself as the target of your slushie."

Dave blinks at her, looking like he forgot about the drink in his hand.

He looks over at Azimio.

Azimio points at Mercedes. "In the _hair_, bro."

Dave glances over at Kurt, eyebrows raised.

Kurt just grins - he's pretty sure he knows where this is going.

"So...you're saying I can do anything I want with this slushie and there are gonna be no repercussions?"

"Let 'em have it, D. These bitches deserve a lesson in...karmic debt, or what the fuck ever that little white girl just said."

Dave smiles and hefts the cup. He sticks the straw in his mouth, slurping up about two inches worth of ice in one breath. "Thanks, dude."

He slips past Azimio, away from Santana's grip, and moves towards Kurt as he skirts the group of black-clad glee kids.

"If your goal was to fucking confuse me until I stopped thinking about shit, it worked."

Kurt meets him halfway and they turn and head towards the doors together. "You got a drink out of it, anyway."

Dave grins. "I told you, dude, I love these fucking things."

* * *

><p>Kurt isn't sure what he's expecting. He's had a lot of grim fears about this, the moment Dave steps in through the door into the crowded midst of the halls of McKinley. He's had images of those scenes in movies where someone walks into a bar and the music screeches into silence and everyone turns and stares. Pointing and laughing and whispering if not outright sneering.<p>

He's had stupid images of people calling Dave's name, cheering and surrounding him and leading a Return-of-the-Junior-Prom-King charge, catching him by surprise and sweeping him off into an admiring crowd.

What he hasn't spent much time expecting is something completely in between. As in...pretty much no reaction at all.

Well, not _no _reaction. Some guy Kurt can't see shouts out '_Karofsky, yo_' and it fades into the crowd fast. But most of the kids around them are busy with their own lives, laughing with their friends and hurrying to class, texting and moaning about homework.

Kurt is almost disappointed – there's nothing a dramatic theatrical mind hates more that an anti-climactic reaction like this – but he glances over at Dave and watches the tension leak out of him the more people pass him by without noticing. And then it doesn't matter how Kurt feels about it, because this is supposed to be about Dave anyway.

But Dave doesn't get much time to relax. He's hit from behind by Azimio's heavy arm and booming voice.

"Hell yeah, McKinley! It's getting _gay _up in here!"

Dave flushes and twists back to face his friend, but Azimio barrels between Dave and Kurt, catching Kurt up in the same one-armed strangle he puts Dave into. He marches into the suddenly attentive crowd, dragging the two of them in his wake.

The kids who might have stayed inside their own lives can't help but notice them now, and recognition starts moving down the hall like a chain reaction.

"Azimio!" Kurt hisses.

"Shut it, Hummel," Azimio mutters back through his beaming grin. "You want him to creep around all day scared of being noticed, or you want to get this shit over with now?"

Kurt scowls but looks around at the grinning and gaping crowd of kids who would have otherwise noticed Dave bit by bit, or heard gossip about him being back and come around to catch a look at him.

Sometimes he wants to hate Azimio, and sometimes he gets close. But he never does manage to get all the way there.

Dave's first class is Physics, and Kurt can take a little relief out of knowing that it's also Dave's favorite class, and might actually be some kind of a decent welcome back to school.

Azimio drags Kurt and Dave all the way there, and with the rest of the glee club moving behind them like some unthreatening West Side Story-esque street gang in matching vinyl jackets they really can't help but attract all kinds of attention. Kurt can't even see how Dave's taking it, since Azimio is between them and Kurt is too small to see around his bulk.

Near the classroom Kurt catches sight of a bushy brown puff of hair, and he manages to get tense all over again. But from the group of glee kids emerges two girls with pinkies locked, and as Santana and Brittany move between them and Jacob, Santana seems to stare at Jacob the entire way.

Kurt can't see her face but he can see Jacob's reaction – he doesn't look scared, at least no more than he normally fears Santana, he just watches the two of them with wide eyes and gives something like a nod and keeps going on his way to class.

Santana loops Britt around casually and heads back to them, smirking at Kurt. "Told you I'd handle him."

"Should I even ask?"

She leans in and lowers her voice, slipping her arm around Brittany's waist. "I promised him all the details he could ever want about McKinley's power threesome."

Kurt blinks, glancing over as Azimio chuckles. "You're going to lie to him about your sex life?"

"Only enough to keep his pasty little boner pointed away from Dave," she confirms. "Nothing gets a gossip blog's hits higher than a sex scandal. It didn't take much to convince him that Dave is old news and we're where the action is."

Brittany smiles, without Santana's edge but with her own sort of playfulness. "I even gave him a name for us – Brittanio."

"Good lord." Kurt rolls his eyes and laughs, and loops his arm around Santana's. "Welcome to Team Rainbow, Satan. I'm actually glad to have you."

She rolls her eyes but her mouth quirks upwards.

They're nearing the classroom, the crowds have stopped gaping quite so openly, Azimio is chattering at Dave about crashing one of his neighbors' lawn parties over the weekend, and everything seems like it might actually come together - at least for the first ten minutes of the day - when it happens.

"Karofsky!"

_There_ is the screech into silence, the instant turning of heads, the dramatic moment that Kurt was expecting earlier.

There are five of them. They approach from the hall ahead, and though there are more than enough people in black jackets on Dave's side to take them out, there's still this moment of dread that seems to float back into the people behind him.

Kurt tenses and stops moving along with everyone else in his eclectic group. He lets go of Santana as she stiffens beside him, and in the sudden nervous silence he can't help but wonder...

Why _mullets?_

"So you finally showed your face again," the puckhead in the front - Cooper, Kurt thinks his name is - drawls out as he and his pals come up and spread out to block the corridor.

Azimio steps forward instantly.

Kurt grabs his arm and hauls him back, watchful as Santana seems ready to fly at them next.

He pushes Azimio back far enough that he can finally see Dave again. He's tense, wary, still pale but there's some color in his cheeks that wasn't there before. Maybe anger, maybe just come badly-needed color.

He stares evenly at the row of hockey players. "What do you want, Cooper?"

"Heard a little rumor," the guy says, sharing a smirk with the guy beside him. "About you."

"You might want to shut up and step back," comes a grim voice from behind Kurt.

Kurt glances back and his eyes widen when he sees Finn right behind him, glaring out at Cooper with the kind of anger that a guy like Finn just doesn't often have.

Puck and Mike have come up through the group of glee kids to stand with Finn behind Dave. They're both grim, and if Mike can't quite pull it off as well as the other guys, Puck and Finn seem dangerous enough for any three people.

Apparently there's something to be said for the bond that forms while shouting profanities at pre-teens on X-Box Live.

Cooper and his pals don't do more than glance over at the Glocks before returning their attention to Dave. He does shoot Kurt a brief look, a barely-there nod of acknowledgment.

"According to this rumor," he goes on, tossing his ratty hair over his shoulder like some preening Cheerio, "you're thinking about coming back to the team."

"What?" Dave seems as startled as the crowd behind him.

"You fucking crazy?" Azimio cuts in, still tense beside Dave. "Big D here is a fucking Titan, not a puckhead."

But Dave looks over at Kurt suddenly, a question in his eyes.

Kurt smiles faintly. Santana took on her assignment to handle Jacob her way, Kurt handled the hockey team his.

He likes to think that he's got a good head for details, a good memory for the important things. He doesn't forget birthdays, he remembers things about his friends that they don't even remember mentioning to him.

And he's not likely to forget the day he stood in Dave's bedroom helping him pack his things, and what Dave told him about why he switched to playing football. The memory is clear in his mind.

Not because of Dave's dad. Or the cake topper, which made its sudden reappearance that day. He just remembers what Dave said about hockey, about how he could have gone somewhere with it that he wouldn't get to through football. That he quit the team because of his dad, because it's not enough for Paul Karofsky's kid to be a jock, he's got to be the right kind.

He remembers the way he himself idly mentioned that there's almost the whole school year left, maybe Dave could switch back.

He remembers because the suggestion put one of the first real glimpses of hope on Dave's face that Kurt had seen from him.

Besides, hockey players are like any other cultish teenage jock group - they look out for their own. As soon as Kurt mentioned to Coach Lewis that his old defenseman might want to play again, that was all it took.

He's quite proud of himself for it, actually.

Dave stares at Kurt as if he's reading his mind, as if he can sense the smugness. He shakes his head, but his eyes shift over to Azimio and he shrugs. "Actually..."

Azimio scowls at him. "Hell no, I did not bring you back here to play fucking _hockey._"

Dave meets his eyes. "There's not much chance of me playing football," he says simply.

Azimio frowns.

Kurt stands there silently and wills him to get it, to remember, to understand.

Dave can handle Azimio in his letterman, fine. But even if Dave wanted to put himself back in a locker room with a crowd of those jackets, even if he thought he could handle that, Kurt would forbid it. He would find some kind of authority from somewhere and _forbid_ it.

In the end he doesn't know how much different being with the hockey team might be, but Dave spoke in his old bedroom like he wants to play again, and Kurt is going to damn well make sure he at least has a chance to get everything he might want.

But if Azimio pulls some territorial act, the plan's over from the start. Kurt has spoken more to Azimio Adams in the last few weeks than in all the years before that, but just because he knows him better doesn't diminish his certainty that he is still a dangerous person to anger.

Azimio's brow creases finally, and he frowns at Dave.

Kurt slips around Azimio while the jocks are locked in their little pissing contest. He steps up to Dave and lays a hand on his arm.

"Just promise me one thing, Dave," he says, a bit too loud to get away with the carefree tone he's going for. "Don't you dare try growing your hair out to fit in with these guys."

Cooper's eyes are on Azimio as he grins in response. "It's cool, we'll get him a wig for games."

Azimio turns hard eyes to him, but looks back at Dave. "You serious, man? You're not gonna play anymore?"

"Can we talk about it later?" Dave asks him quietly.

Azimio scowls, but doesn't argue.

"If you ladies work this out in time, show up at practice after school tomorrow. Your old number's ready for ya, Karofsky."

Cooper and his cronies gather and push their way through the crowd of kids.

Kurt's eyes stay on Dave. He sees the twitch of his mouth, the little glitter of light in his eyes, and he decides instantly that the drama doesn't matter. Dave wants to play hockey, and that's what's going to happen here.

Azimio can be scary all he wants. Kurt will take on more than him without flinching.

"Stop glaring at him, he's not scared of you," Santana says suddenly, moving up past Finn and elbowing Azimio hard. "Your bullshit macho posturing can wait, Z."

"Whatever." Azimio claps Dave on the shoulder – maybe a little too hard, judging by Dave's near-stumble – and flashes a tight grin. "Get to class, man."

Dave looks back at the classroom door as Santana drags her fake boyfriend off down the hall.

Kurt looks back and dismisses the New Directions with a nod before leaning in to Dave. "Just so you know, this whole thing went differently in my head."

Dave snorts. "Fucking hope so."

He looks back at the group scattering behind them, and down at Kurt again with a faint smile. It's a little thin, a little tight in the corners, but it's a smile. "Thanks for all this."

Kurt squeezes his arm and returns the smile with a bright grin of his own. "See you after class?"

Dave nods and draws in a deep breath. His muscles tighten under Kurt's hand the moment before he heads to class and Kurt has to let him go.

* * *

><p>He tries not to think about it too hard as he turns and heads towards History. He tries not to think in terms of letting Dave go, because that's too dramatic even for him. He tries not to think of a day towards the end of last year, of Dave in his beret and red jacket telling Kurt to wait for him after class.<p>

It isn't the same, really. It isn't anything like coming full circle. Back then Dave had tears in his eyes, offering an apology that he didn't seem to expect Kurt to actually accept. He asked Kurt to wait for him like it was some kind of favor Kurt could do for him. He was sorry, and he said the words but he was also looking for a chance to prove it.

Kurt was the one in control back then, and he feels like he's still the one in control. He stayed after that French class for Dave because he realized that Dave needed it, and he'll meet Dave after Physics today for the same reason.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Hostess."<p>

Kurt shuts his locker and frowns at the thickening crowd spilling into the halls.

Lunchtime now, and he didn't give enough thought to this ahead of time.

He pictured Dave simply sitting at the glee table, but the relatively-drama-free-but-still-highly-awkward day so far has made him second-guess himself. Azimio might want him over with the jocks, but that might start up the whole hockey-football argument sooner than Dave should have to deal with it.

There's a chance Dave won't want to make some huge public statement by sitting with the glee kids, anyway. Walking down the hall followed by a squad of them is one thing, sitting down and eating with them is something else. The lunchroom is like a magnifying class for social structures in high school – who you eat with in the cafeteria can mean more than who you take to Homecoming.

"Hostess!"

He sighs and starts towards the Spanish classroom to intercept Dave and see what he thinks.

A long, strong arm lands on his shoulder. "I understand it's not as obvious a nickname as some, but I'll tell you the thought pattern behind it." Sue Sylvester flashes him one of her hello-children smiles that might be malicious or might simply be fake.

She walks along with him down the hall, which seems to have the effect of every single kid in the hallway getting immediately out of their way. "See, I was going to call you Twinkie, but it's my understanding that in your particular social circle that term has a different meaning, and one that's not necessarily an insult. So I was forced to choose between Ding Dong – which is too juvenile even for me – or Hostess Cupcake. For obvious reasons I dropped the 'cupcake' part, but in the end the point I'm trying to get across is that you're a sugary sponge with absolutely no nutritional value."

Kurt flashes her a smile. "Is there something I can do for you, Coach Sylves-"

"Well, that depends on you, Snoball. I was going to come after you yesterday but you weren't around, and after the chat you and I had over the phone on Sunday I found myself getting...not concerned, of course, because – and I want to be clear on this – I just don't give a crap. But I'm _curious_."

The mention of the phone call brings color to Kurt's face. It was his dad's idea, after Kurt explained the catastrophic weekend and asked how he could begin to repair things. His dad told him that he needed to offer Dave what he denied him in that restaurant – a choice. So Kurt called Sue, and Azimio, and Paul Karofsky of all people, to see what options he could offer Dave if he wanted to leave the house.

And in hindsight, he probably should have called Sue back once things were resolved.

He should probably call Paul Karofsky back as well at some point.

"Sorry," he says with a grimace, hoping his blush isn't too obvious. "We worked everything out."

"He here?"

"Yeah."

She glares at him as if searching out a lie. "He okay?"

Kurt nods ahead at a still figure leaning against the door of Mr. Shue's classroom. She looks out, and something in her face softens a little.

He watches it happen and smiles to himself. The day Dave was hurt, the day she found him on the ground and Kurt found her kneeling beside him with panic in her usually steely eyes...

That was a bad day. Short of his mother's death, that might be the single worst day he has ever had. But moments like this remind him every once in a while that good things can come out of the most horrible events. Dave, standing there staring out into the middle distance as he waits, reminds Kurt all the time that good can come from bad.

Dave notices them coming. His eyebrows shoot up when he sees who's marching beside Kurt, but he flashes that crooked, shy smile that Kurt adores and straightens from his slouch.

"Hey, Coach."

"Knuckles." She studies him for a moment, like she needs to make sure he's not about to crumble. She pats Kurt's arm with more force than is strictly necessary and lets him go finally. "Welcome back."

"Thanks," Dave says, cheeks pink.

She looks down at her watchless wrist. "Right, I've suddenly remembered better things I have to do." She nods over at Dave. "My office is empty for the next hour, Knuckles." She nods at Kurt. "Moonpie."

Kurt watches her stride away, watches the crowd part in front of her. Must be a nice skill to possess.

"Hey..."

He looks back at Dave instantly. "Hey! Sorry. Ready for lunch?"

"Yeah, um."

Kurt was right to think twice about the cafeteria. He can see that in the strain around Dave's eyes.

Dave nods towards the already distant figure of Sue Sylvester. "She told me I could hide in her office if I need to, when she was trying to talk me into coming back. I think I might..."

He understands then her random mention of her office being empty, and Kurt finds himself amused by Sylvester all over again. She goes out of her way to insult people, but she also notices that Dave looks a little overwhelmed and offers him her office without missing a beat.

"Mind some company?" he asks with a faint smile.

Dave hesitates, but only for an instant. "Come on."

Only when they're safely closed up in Sue's office, sitting among the trophies, does Kurt think to ask, "Wait a minute, when did she try talking you into coming back here?"

Dave grins and shrugs. "All the time. You're not the only one that texts me during the days, you know."

And no, Kurt didn't know. But he's not really surprised anymore.

* * *

><p>"He <em>is <em>joining!"

Dave stops in the doorway to the choir room instantly, eyes going wide.

Kurt reaches over and slaps Rachel's arm lightly. "Hush, harpy. I'm his ride, he's just waiting for me."

She frowns, brow furrowing, and he's sure she is absolutely mystified why someone would want to sit through a rehearsal and not sing their little hearts out.

Mr. Schue grins over at Dave, since his lecture about intonation has already been cut off by Rachel. "Dave, come on in. You can have a seat – no one will make you sing, I promise."

Dave flashes a faint smile and sidles inside the room, shutting the door behind him. When no one objects to his presence – and they've been walking him to and from classes all day, he really ought to be more relaxed – he slips into the chair closest to the door and sets his books down on the seat beside him.

Mr. Schue turns back to the kids. "So. The point is, the same way speech patterns give away emotions, so does the rhythm of the song. Now someone like Stephen Sondheim, he understands writing music from an actor's point of view, he builds the speed, the pauses, the staccato pattern of anger or irritation, into the music. The challenge is in finding ways to inject those things into songs not written so deliberately, without losing the melody or flow of the song. So, Sam, for your performance a minute ago: you've got the feeling of the song in your face, in your movements, but look for ways to let it bleed through the words."

He looks over the rest of the class. "Who else has something prepared? Kurt, you said you were ready to go?"

Kurt's eyes dart instantly over to Dave. For some reason his face heats. "Um. I...I need to think about it. Intonation and everything. Someone else can-"

"Kurt. Come on, since when are you shy?" Schue obviously noticed the glance at Dave, but from his easy grin he must have misinterpreted it.

Or...no. Because there's no interpretation to be made.

Kurt stands up smoothly, because objecting will only make it look even more like there's something going on that needs interpretation. He steps out to the front of the group, nodding at Brad and turning to face his audience. He doesn't look over at the chairs by the door.

He isn't even aware that those chairs exist, damn it.

He clears his throat. "In the interest of the week's theme and for the benefit of showing off my flawless language skills, I will be singing the classic Edith Piaf number _Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien_."

Mr. Schue beams at that, pleased. "Defiance in a foreign language. Good choice, Kurt."

Kurt nods back at Brad, and he begins a fairly flawless piano rendition of the stirring orchestral opening.

Kurt does not look to the side, and he doesn't wish he had selected something a little less...camp. He shuts his eyes to listen for the cue, and slides in strong and clipped. Defiance, Kurt Hummel style – in the voice of a dead French woman.

_"Non, rien de rien  
>Non, je ne regrette rien<br>Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait  
>Ni le mal, tout ça m'est bien égal<br>Non, rien de rien  
>Non, je ne regrette rien<br>C'est payé, balayé, oublié  
>Je me fous du passé..."<em>

About halfway through the verse he looks around, always testing his audience, and he's surprised to see Mercedes is looking nowhere near him. She adores him, and his voice, so he follows her gaze to see what could more import...

Dave. She's staring to the side directly at Dave.

Which is when Kurt notices that Dave is staring right at him.

Kurt is a showman, of course, and there's nothing unexpected about having an audience. He doesn't miss a note, his tone doesn't waiver. He lofts his chin and faces front again, and he sings.

_"Avec mes souvenirs, j'ai allumé le feu  
>Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs, je n'ai plus besoin d'eux<br>Balayées les amours, avec leurs trémolos  
>Balayées pour toujours, je repars à zéro..."<em>

There is applause when he reaches the end of the song and his voice dies out, and he gives his usual bow and nods to acknowledge the well-deserved applause.

Mercedes flashes a grin at him as he comes back to his chair. "To think," she says. "There was a time I thought you were straight."

He sniffs and sends her a haughty look as he sits. He doesn't even look over to see if Dave's still watching.

Until a moment later, when he does. Dave's eyes are on the ground, or his lap, or somewhere directly in front of him.

Kurt faces Mr. Schue as he gets up to wrap up the rehearsal for the day, and tries not to acknowledge that he's disappointed.

Mr. Schue breaks them up pretty soon after that – a few last notes about settling on a set list for sectionals and they're dismissed.

Mercedes grabs her bag fast and all but darts towards the door, which is unusual for her.

Kurt glances after her and freezes with his backpack hanging half off of his shoulder when she stops beside Dave and leans in and says something to him too softly for Kurt to hear.

Dave's eyes widen and his gaze whips over to Kurt. A moment later his face is beet red and he looks away from both of them and down at the ground. He mutters something that only carries over as a low growl.

Mercedes laughs and heads out the door.

Kurt approaches Dave slowly. "Hey, you ready?"

Dave shoots out of his chair and scoops up his books. "Yeah."

* * *

><p>He waits until they're in the car and on the road before looking over. "So. What did she say to you?"<p>

"Who?" Dave asks way too fast.

Kurt smiles. "You know who."

"Nothing. Just giving me shit." Dave starts to turn to Kurt but changes his mind, staring out the window instead.

Kurt's eyebrows slip up, but he faces ahead again and decides to be nice and let it go. "Well. I know I saw you often enough, but...how did everything go today?"

Dave lets out a breath. "Weird," he says with a shrug. "Half the time I was calling myself a pussy for waiting so long, since...you know, shit, it's just school."

"What about the other half of the time?"

Another shrug, but his voice pitches lower suddenly. "I had to take a break last period. Called the doc."

"Doctor Mad?" Kurt tries to smile. "Did she help?"

"I guess. I mean...she told me I wasn't nuts, even though I've been feeling fucking bipolar all day." He sighs and drops his head back against the headrest. His cheeks are only a little pink when Kurt catches a glimpse of him.

"I can't make up my mind about anything, I guess. It's weird. I'd look around and realize that everything was okay and my brain would start shouting that I oughtta be freaking out. And I'd have a second where I'd feel a little freaked and my brain laughed at me for being a wuss. And I can't decide if having fucking glee stalkers in the halls is cool or pathetic, or if I'm pissed or happy at Z for everything this morning." He sighs, looking over. "I dunno, it's like the same moody bullshit I've been dealing with for weeks, but...suddenly my mood's changing every two minutes instead of every two hours."

"You're having a lot more thrown at you than usual," Kurt reasons. "You're used to sitting at home texting me. Stimulating though I am, I'm not the best preparation for a return high school."

"Yeah, that's kind of what the doc said." Dave frowns suddenly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Something about how my brain's not gonna react to anything the way it used to, how I'm gonna get mixed up between how I _expect _shit to feel and how it actually feels."

Kurt considers that as he pulls them onto their street. "Sounds logical."

"It sounds like she's saying my fucking brain is different," Dave answers. "I don't like that idea. I'm not someone else now."

"Well..." Kurt pulls into the wide driveway carefully and puts the car into park. He shuts off the engine and sits there, thinking about it.

Dave doesn't move, obviously waiting for whatever he's going to say.

"You kind of are, Dave. I mean...in a way. In a lot of ways." He looks over at Dave uncertainly. "You said it yourself, before all this happened you spent most of your time obsessing over being straight, not giving yourself away. Not giving in to the gay, you know?" He smiles faintly. "Even if nothing else changed except you suddenly not having that kind of burden on your shoulders...that's still pretty huge, right?"

Dave shrugs. "Maybe, but that's not what I'm talking about."

"Well, if you're talking about getting hurt the way you were hurt and having it leave no affect on you, then I agree with the doctor. It's too much to ask of yourself to hope that something that huge won't leave some kind of scar."

Dave frowns. He doesn't argue, but his jaw is set and he looks out the windshield instead of at Kurt.

"If it helps..." Kurt hesitates, watching Dave, the vein in his temple pulsing and the way his throat works in the pause. "I think you're still you. Just a new version of you. The you that went through hell and walked away from it."

He smiles, and it feels lame but he means it, and hopefully Dave can tell. "I don't like what you had to go through to get here, but I like you. Whether you're the same or different, I think you're pretty amazing."

Dave looks over, and his mouth slips up a fraction before he looks away again. "That probably helps."

He picks his books off his lap and reaches for the door handle. Kurt grabs his bag from the floorboard by his feet and smiles as he steps out into the driveway.

It hasn't been a perfect day by any stretch of the imagination. But Dave got through it, and Kurt helped. And that's what matters.

* * *

><p>Mercedes doesn't even hesitate to tell Kurt what it was she said to Dave before they left the choir room that day.<p>

"_I told him that if he really wants to impress you he's eventually gonna have to get up there and sing."_

Kurt isn't sure whether to feel exasperated or amused or angry, so he lets it go.

It's hard enough for him to act normal around Dave, after everything that's happened lately. It's hard to look at Dave and not think a constant mantra of 'loves me loves me loves me'. Hard not to try to read into every gesture, every word or glance.

It's hard to hear Mercedes' cheerful commentary: "_Look, boo. I think you've got a choice between the easiest, most perfect match in the world or the most painfully complicated and _wrong. _But I also think that boy watched you singing today the way the folks at my church watch the pastor preaching the word. I love Blaine, I really do, I'm rooting for him. But as far as I've seen he has never looked at you that way before." _

How does Kurt not obsess over that? How does he leave something as huge and complicated as _love _out there in the atmosphere without doing something about it?

Blaine loves Kurt, and Kurt loves Blaine.

Dave (probably) loves Kurt, and...

And what?

Kurt has always believed that love is love and there's no room for doubt or confusion. He's old-fashioned about things like love, about the idea that if he loves one person he shouldn't be able to even think of anyone else. Love should be this huge, overpowering, innate thing that doesn't leave room for confusion.

If he loves Blaine, there should be no _and _in terms of Dave. He shouldn't have any room in his heart, because love is _love_. Love takes up all the space.

But like most everything else in his life lately, he finds he's less and less sure of himself about this belief that he used to be rock solid on. Because he loves Blaine – he thinks those words to himself and says them out loud to Blaine and he would be able to tell if it wasn't true. But he has never loved Blaine to the exclusion of all other options.

Blaine said once that he thought Kurt found Blaine and decided they were meant to be, and that was that. There was no room left for thoughts of other men. Kurt isn't sure that's the case. Blaine's point was valid enough – Kurt has a blind spot a mile wide when it comes to attraction and guys. But he doesn't know if it's because he's so content with Blaine or simply because he's got a blind spot.

He isn't familiar with what love looks like. Kurt has always been the first one to feel anything for any of the boys he's pursued. He has always been the one who walked around love sick and pining. He and Blaine were friends, and then Blaine realized that Kurt felt more for him, and eventually Blaine accepted it and reciprocated.

With Blaine it's never 'I love you'. It's always 'I love you, too.' Even when Blaine says the words first, even when Kurt is the one echoing them, it still feels like Blaine is just catching up to him.

Does that mean something bigger about what Kurt and Blaine have? Or does it mean that Kurt's starry-eyed dreams about all-consuming love are just immature and naïve?

Does Kurt's lack of familiarity about what it would look like if someone were pining for him the way he has always pined for others mean that he's in denial over something that really is painfully obvious?

Maybe most important of all...exactly how the hell is he supposed to get any _sleep _with all of this racing through his mind?

* * *

><p>tbc<p> 


	27. Chapter 27

_Author's Note: Okay, I don't think you guys understand. I could seriously keep this story going forever. I really could. I adore the characters, I'm inspired like I have never been before thanks to Dave and Kurt and Swerley and TheFirstMrsHummel, and Dreamun and badfirstimpression and pulpobsessed and myownghost and allthehotness and I knew I shouldn't start listing people because there's no way to name everyone who's overwhelmed me along the course of this story._

_I've had ideas and plans enough to make the first 30 chapter just Part One of Two. B__ut. I know from experience as both writer and reader that when a story doesn't know when to quit it always becomes obvious. __I like the idea of maybe writing some one-shots in this universe, and maybe sometime I'll shape those random plans and ideas into a substantial sequel. But these kids need a conclusion of some kind, so by Chapter 30 they're gonna have it. :-) _

_As always, though, I am entirely awed by your responses and your encouragement, and whatever story I start on next I can only wish for even a tenth of the reaction I've gotten for this one. _

* * *

><p>Kurt isn't sure what happened when Dave cornered Azimio at school Tuesday morning and talked out the hockeyfootball debate with him, but that day after school Dave takes Cooper up on his offer and gets his jersey and his old number back.

If Kurt has some reservations about Dave playing at all, hanging around a crowd of overbearing jocks who can turn sadistic so easily...well, those reservations don't last past Tuesday evening, when Finn comes home before Dave and knocks on Kurt's door with a grin on his face.

"Barry freakin _Manilow_, man," is all he can say for the first minute.

He goes on to tell Kurt that before practice that afternoon Finn and Puck and a couple of the JV players were all but forced out of the locker room by like every guy on the hockey team, cramming in all at the same time, and every one of them screeching the words to _Copacabana _like a karaoke bar getting out after last call.

"Scott Cooper front and center, leading the whole thing, and I figured he was doing it to piss Azimio off." He grins at Kurt.

Kurt's still half-stuck on picturing a whole herd of mullet-headed hockey guys wailing about Lola and Rico.

"They started forcing us out, like it's their turf or something, and I nearly let Puck punch a guy but then I figured out what they were doing."

"There was thought behind this musical travesty?"

Finn nods, eyeing Kurt. "Right in the middle of the group I saw Dave, laughing at these idiots so hard I don't think he even realized where he was, and when he did he didn't care." He shrugs. "Everybody knows that what went down with him went down in the locker room. I bet he was nervous to go back in there and they must've figured it out."

Kurt's mouth drops open, and there go his worries about Dave playing hockey.

Finn lopes over to the door, obviously done delivering his news and probably off to call Rachel or whoever the girlfriend is this week. "I tell you," he says in the doorway, glancing back at Kurt, "those guys are complete idiots, but I think they might be alright."

Sure enough, when Dave gets in from practice a little while later, he's grinning and flushed and damp from the school shower, and there's not a hint of shadows in his eyes when he comes in late and sits at the dinner table with an apology for Carole.

Kurt watches him, finding it hard to take his eyes away, and he doesn't even mind that Dave and Finn take up the entire dinner with comparisons between hockey and football. He walks away from the dinner table with his head filled with talk about strategies and positions and coaches and it's all so macho and butch that he feels oddly _straight _as he goes upstairs.

But Dave knocks on his door and comes in to sit on Kurt's bed and make small talk as Kurt sasses Mercedes on Facebook, and in just a few minutes his gay is safely back in place.

* * *

><p>The entire week is almost worryingly easy that way. Dave and Kurt don't drive in together – between practice and rehearsal and Dave having a session with Doc Mad on Thursday and Kurt's scheduled for Friday, it seems impractical. But that's pretty much the one down side to the week.<p>

There aren't any rumors in the halls about Dave. Jacob keeps his blog buzzing with the Sordid Story of Brittanio, and things seem oddly peaceful. Between the Glocks and Azimio (and five of them being kicked out of school) there don't seem to be many jocks left with the urge to make the Glee kids' lives hell. The slushie Dave drank Monday morning is the only one Kurt sees all week.

Dave comes by glee rehearsal on Thursday, biding time between school and his session with the therapist.

On Friday, Kurt bides that same time by wandering over to watch the hockey team practice.

They apparently don't have the budget to bus the kids over to the ice rink every practice, so half the time they practice in the gym on roller skates. Kurt finds the whole thing pretty amusing, but stating as much to Dave leads to a twenty-minute long lecture about the difference between moving on ice and moving on wheels and how it hurts their chances when they can't get on the ice every day. Kurt makes a mental note not to mention it again.

He goes into the gym on Friday ready to be amused, and at first he is. Seriously, it's a pack of puckheads shouting and rolling around and scraping their giant stick-things all across the floor as they go. How can that not be funny?

He slips onto a bleacher a couple of rows from the bottom – just in case someone comes flying at him – and watches them roll around and crash into each other and chase after a miniscule black puck. The hockey coach is on the side shouting instructions that sound like a foreign language, and the players on the sidelines catcall and shout.

Kurt spots Dave with a couple of the other guys who aren't playing – they're standing near the back wall with a row of pucks, smacking them one by one at a shrunken version of a goal, trying to get them into this foot-wide gap. They seem to be giving each other that teenage jock variety of shit that they all give each other.

Kurt's not an athlete. He has no desire to be an athlete. He'll come to the games and occasionally he can be talked into singing with the Cheerios, but that's the beginning and end of his participation in the sports program at McKinley.

Still. He can kind of see why someone would do this. After a day in the life of a teenage boy it must be something of a relief to let out some stress putting on padding and slamming into people without consequences. Hockey from what he can tell exists solely to slam into each other and skate around.

Half the time he can't even tell where the puck is and he's not sure the players can, either.

About ten minutes before he needs to get on the road for the short commute to the doctor's office, the coach calls Dave in to play.

He looks more like his old self under all the padding – it adds back some of the bulk that the last couple of months have carved off of him. Kurt can't make out his expression under the safety gear across the gym, but he seems pretty enthusiastic.

Then he darts out from the sidelines and into the pack of players, and Kurt forgets that the game makes no sense at all.

He's much more graceful than Kurt would have thought. More graceful than most of the idiots slipping around the floor. He darts out into the pack, glides between and around and through people, skids into sudden turns, looking like he was born with wheels on his feet.

He's good – he's better than most of those guys, at least when it comes to moving around. Kurt doesn't know where he should be or what someone in his position is supposed to do, but he does know why Scott Cooper was so happy to hear he wanted to come back.

It's an aggressive game. Maybe even more than football, because it's so quick the collisions look so much more fierce. Dave seems aggressive, darting artfully around people when he wants to and just as artfully slamming into them when he needs to.

When he ends up with the puck, it seems to flip a switch in him. He hunches in, all tight shoulders and fierce focus, and his stick sweeps over the gym floor in fast, tight strokes, back and forth, moving the puck along in front of him until without pause he lets it fly to another teammate, or towards the goals.

He's good. He's really good.

Kurt can tell, and it's _Kurt_, so Dave must be awesome. It wasn't so obvious with football, but there aren't many positions in football that seem to require anything more skillful than slamming into someone.

He knows right away that he was right, that Dave missed the game. That the game missed him.

Talking to Cooper, risking that run-in Monday morning, ticking off Azimio and making Dave face him about playing football...

All worth it.

Mercedes might tease Dave about singing to impress Kurt, and Rachel might screech at him like a broken record about joining glee, but Kurt sees in Dave's fierce focus and hears in his calls and shouts to the other players that _this _is what he loves, the way Kurt loves to sing. This silly, mindless sport, these mulletheads on roller skates because they don't have the budget to get to the ice rink...this is where Dave wants to be.

It's no surprise to realize that. Even if Dave cooks and reads science journals and possibly even sings, he's still Dave. He's still the coarse jock he always was, the one he _wants _to be. It's no surprise that he's happy here.

The surprise is in realizing that Kurt is happy with him here. The surprise comes when Kurt looks at his watch and sees he should have left five minutes ago, and still finds himself reluctant to go. He doesn't care about hockey, he doesn't know who plays what position or who's winning or anything like that. But he wants to stay and watch Dave dart around and flick the puck into beautiful, clean glides along the varnished floor.

Blaine is a singer, a good one. A performer. Kurt at his most adoring used to think there was nothing better than loving a boy who does the things that Kurt loves to do, and does them so well. But this? Hockey? Pucks and sticks? He could sit here and watch this just as eagerly as any of the Warbler performances.

That probably means something, but Kurt's already ten minutes late and he can't really think about what it might mean.

* * *

><p>"I was reading up on all this," he says, sinking back in his rather cozy black armchair and admiring the deep rose color on the walls again. "Trying to get myself smart so I'd be ready for today."<p>

Doctor Maddie sounds amused. "You realize that the responsibility for being smart in this office is mostly mine, right?"

"Well." Kurt waves a hand airily. "One, I was only getting myself Wikipedia-smart, which isn't all that smart at all. And two..." He shrugs, sending a smile across the small office. "I really was kind of hoping to figure some things out."

"Like what?"

He likes that she's casual. She doesn't sit there with a pad and pen, eyeing him and jotting down his crazier words. She smiles, she speaks casually.

It helps that she's also _lovely_, a bit conservative but stylish and tasteful - and he's pretty sure she's wearing actual Jimmy Choos.

Besides, she's been helping Dave. It's been one week, not enough time for miracles or epiphanies. But whatever therapy is like when Dave's the one in the armchair, Dave isn't tense or angry when he comes home. That's more than enough motivation for Kurt to give her a chance.

He clears his throat and realizes he didn't answer her. "Honestly?"

She smiles. "This is a much more effective process that way, yes."

"Well..." His smile fades a bit. "Some things have been pointed out to me lately, and it's a lot to work out, and...I don't know. I can't help feeling like your time would be better spent on Dave, so...the more I can work out on my own the better."

"Aha." She smiles, but her words are measured. "You do realize, I hope, that your being here has nothing at all to do with Dave."

He blinks at that.

"I understand that you're worried about him, but Dave has had two sessions this week already, and I don't think he's anxious for a third. You're not taking up time meant for him, Kurt. You're here for you."

Kurt thinks about that, and feels himself smiling faintly. "I've lost interest in worrying about myself."

She laughs, soft and musical. "That's alright; just like being smart, being interested is what I'm here for."

"That's dangerous," Kurt tells her with a grin. "Ask my dad – I'm a bad enough talker when I'm not being encouraged."

She studies him, and her smile fades away. "Tell me what sort of reading you've been doing."

He rolls his eyes. "It's stupid, and it was only Wikipedia."

She regards him, waiting.

He can feel the heat coming to his face. "Okay. I, um." He tries not to feel too sheepish. "I don't know, it's...you know what codependency is?"

She nods.

He flushes dark – the woman's a psychologist, of course she knows what it is.

But there's nothing but patience on her face, so he tries to push his embarrassment away. "Well. That. I was looking that up. I thought there was a chance you would say I was...you know, that."

"What do you think?" she asks simply. "Do you worry you'll come across as codependent?"

He shrugs.

She smiles after a moment. "You've been handed a lot of responsibility lately, I understand."

He laughs. "Not really, more like I reached out and grabbed it and won't let go." When she doesn't answer he sighs and shifts in the armchair. "I never hesitated. I never had to be asked. Not once since Dave was hurt has anyone had to ask me to be there for him. I volunteered, and I would volunteer all over again."

"Why's that?"

"Because it was my fault."

And...

Okay. _What?_

It's not exactly a revelation – he's very much aware of his overdeveloped sense of guilt. But he's surprised at himself for jumping right to that. Leaping over his other reasons – that Dave's his friend, that they're both gay and so there's a bond there, that he saw him on the floor of the locker room and knew he wouldn't be able to walk away – as if they don't factor in comparison.

"What was your fault?" she asks.

"All of it." Hs smile is gone now, and he doesn't particularly want to talk about this. He'd rather ramble on about worrying he's codependent, fearing he won't be able to let go of his role as caretaker and nurse.

He'd rather talk about Dave.

But she regards him with calm, steady eyes, and she's the first one who has asked him about it who he hasn't had to worry about in some way.

He can't talk to his dad about everything he worries about, because his dad deals with too much already. His dad has been unbelievably supportive to both Kurt and Dave, and he will keep on being supportive if Kurt goes to him and vents his issues.

But Kurt's dad is still pretty recently married, and he's already had one heart attack, and Kurt knows that just because he can ask the world of his dad, that doesn't mean he _should_.

He can't talk to Dave about this, of course. He doesn't want to drop the burden of it on Mercedes, or Blaine, or Finn. His friends have their own problems, and though it's getting better now they also have a skewed view of Dave.

The woman in front of him actually wants to listen, and won't color his words with her own opinions. She won't go to his dad and make him worry, or gossip about his silly worries.

He still thinks that compared to Dave his own problems aren't worth mentioning, but she's given him an opening, and hesitantly he sticks a foot through to see how it feels.

"The whole thing..." He looks away from her thoughtful dark eyes. "I'm the one that started it. I was the catalyst."

She doesn't say anything.

Kurt knows that silence is the best way to keep someone talking, but he can't blame her for using the trick. It's kind of her job, right?

He draws in a breath and lets it out and keeps his words as measured as possible. "When I found out Dave was gay...when he kissed me last year. I don't know, it was like this really huge thing. I mean...with someone like me, being gay is like my defining characteristic. It's the biggest and most prominent part of my life, and...I think maybe I thought that everyone was like that. Blaine, my...my boyfriend..." He stumbles over that word, and that's unignorably troubling. "He's kind of the same way. I mean, gay isn't _all _he is, but it's one of the first things anyone would notice. His stories are always about old boyfriends, or coming out, or dealing with bullies. Most of what we talk about is singing songs and being gay."

He glances over, but her thoughtful expression hasn't changed at all.

"So. Suddenly here's Dave. Here's Karofsky, this big hulking jock who gets his kicks picking on the geeks in the halls. And one moment that's all he is. The next moment...he's _gay. _He's one of us." Kurt shakes his head with a wry smile. "I've called him narrow-minded because of the things he thought that being gay meant, but I'm just as guilty. I thought if he was gay than secretly he was like Blaine and I, and being gay was this huge thing, but unlike us he didn't actually let it out. I figured maybe that's why he was so cruel, and if he'd just give in and let the gay out, everything would be just _fabulous_."

She smiles when he looks up.

He rolls his eyes at himself. "Anyway. I took it upon myself to help him, this poor little lost sheep so far away from the big gay herd. Not at first – we had our period of drama. He would threaten, I would get him expelled, he would terrify me, I would enroll in private school. One of _those_ phases."

She laughs under her breath.

Kurt relaxes a little – talking isn't hard for him, but talking about this, about Dave, and to a woman who lovely as she is is still a stranger...it's not easy. So it helps that she seems amused. Kurt is an entertainer, after all, and his ego is petty enough that he feels drawn to people who admire his talent, or laugh at his stories.

"When we got past that period, when I went back to McKinley and he said he was sorry and I didn't have to be scared of him anymore. That's when I made it my goal to rescue the poor little gay boy trapped in that gruff jock closet. And everything I ever said to him after that, every time we ever talked, that's the only thing I focused on. Making him come out, helping him to become as mostly-gay as Blaine and I are."

He hesitates then, because this story is moving in a straight line, and he really doesn't like what comes next. His words to Dave in the halls of McKinley, or in Figgins' office, or on stage at Prom, those are bad enough, but they're innocent.

The next part is harder.

"He sent me an email," he says, his voice suddenly soft. "He wanted to keep an eye on me at school, make sure people kept leaving me alone, and he wanted to know if that was okay. My answer? 'Come out! Just come out. Forget everything else, just...'" He frowns. "What's that thing that people have where they can't stop themselves from shouting out 'fuck' at random times?"

"Tourette's?" she suggests, though she sounds mildly disapproving of his description of the disease.

"Yeah. I think I had Gay Tourette's or something. The moment I saw his name on an email or heard his voice in the halls I started screeching 'come out' like I couldn't control myself." He frowns out at the rose walls, at the neat cluster of diplomas and certificates hanging behind her desk. "He wanted to make amends, or be friends, and all I wanted was to yank him out of his closet."

She studies him in the pause. "He sent you an email," she cues after a moment.

He looks at her warily, wondering if Dave talked to her about all this or if she just has some gift for picking out the important details and knowing they're going to lead somewhere.

"Yeah. He sent me an email, and I answered with another blast of Gay Tourette's, and I said..." He draws in a breath. "I asked him what...what's the worst that could happen if he actually listened to me. He acted like coming out would be the end of the world, and I was...god, I was so flippant about it, and I can't get over that. I ignored what he said, I refused to think he'd have it any worse than I did. I just kept poking and poking. I asked him, like such a flippant little _brat_, what could be so bad if he just came out. 'Just think about it, Dave, you'll see nothing's as bad as your life right now.'"

He looks up then, and though he's absolutely guilty of what he's saying and he isn't there for forgiveness, he can't stop himself from adding, "He told me he was miserable living the way he was. I really did think it would be better for him if he just stopped lying to himself and everyone else. I thought I was saying the right thing."

She nods easily. "I believe you."

He hates this. Really. He's the one that started the conversation heading this way, and he _hates _it. He lives with knowing he's to blame for everything that's happened to Dave, why would he ever want to talk about it?

He shuts his eyes for a moment, and images come to him so easily. One moment Dave is passing him in the hallway with a small, shy smile on his face. The next he's lying on the floor, and his fingernails are bloody, and the towel covering him shifts...

He swallows and shakes his head bitterly. "The next thing I knew he was kicked out of his house, his best friend betrayed him, and he was in the hospital with a tube down his throat and nurses testing his blood for STDs."

God, already. He isn't going to do this, become some sobbing ball of angst just because being in a therapist's office implies permission. But his voice is unsteady and he can feel pricks stinging at his eyes, and he _hates _this feeling.

He pushed Dave to come out. Coming out sent Dave to Azimio, and sent the truth to the football team, and sent Jason Campbell and his vicious friends to corner Dave in the girls' locker room.

"I didn't want him to be hurt," he says, and his voice is tight and thready. "I thought it would be okay. I was so stupid, and he's the one who suffered for it. It's my fault, everything he did. Everything that happened."

"Kurt."

He looks up, almost in challenge. There's no argument to be made here – she might be smart but no amount of intelligence can change the past.

She shifts in her chair, smoothing the line of her skirt over her lap. "Let's go back to that kiss for a moment."

He frowns. His mind is on a different day in a different locker room, and it's so much more important than that kiss.

She goes on, soft and even. "Dave tells me that the kiss was the end product of some advice you received from your boyfriend."

He snorts, swiping at his eyes as the heat gathers into dampness. "I've come to accept that Blaine gives horrible advice."

She smiles faintly. "Dave bullied you, physically and verbally. He displayed aggression and contempt. He is obviously larger than you physically, and most likely stronger."

Kurt nods – he doesn't get how this is more important than Dave and the locker room and those emails, but then he doesn't particularly want to talk about those. "And I cornered him on my own, and probably should have gotten my face pounded in for it."

"Did you expect that?"

Kurt thinks back. "I didn't expect anything. When I followed him it was about me, not him. I mean...when he waved his fist in my face I started thinking about all the ways it was probably going to backfire, but by then it was too late." He frowns after a moment. "I did expect him to hit me, I think, once I was facing him down in the locker room." He smiles weakly. "I can safely say I didn't expect him to kiss me."

"But Blaine did."

He blinks. "What?"

She regards him, curious. "Didn't he? He must have known what would happen."

"Why would he..." Kurt shakes his head. "Of course he didn't know. He wouldn't have pushed me to confront him."

"But once you did confront him, and he kissed you and scared you so badly, I'm sure Blaine apologized for his advice. I'm sure he realized that what happened was completely his fault."

He has a sudden grim thought – has Dave been talking to her about Blaine? Has she been hearing horrible things about him that would make her say things like this? There's no other explanation for it – she's a doctor, she ought to know better than this.

"Listen," he says, his voice firm and solid again, "what happened had nothing to do with Blaine. He gave me the best advice he could think of, but I'm the one who went into that locker room. I'm the one who..."

She regards him.

Kurt blinks. He looks away from her, his brow furrowing. Blaine gave him the advice, but Kurt's the one who took it.

Oh.

He swallows.

She speaks after a moment. "You gave advice to someone who needed it. You gave the best advice you thought possible, given your own experiences. Dave chose to accept that advice, and the moment he made that choice he took on the responsibility for whatever followed."

He shakes his head, but it takes him a moment to push his voice past a thickening throat. "It's not the same thing."

"No? If Dave really had hurt you when you confronted him, would it have been Blaine's fault? If Dave, whom you both knew to be capable of at least some measure of violence, had turned on you and put you in the hospital. If he lashed out against you for being gay, if he had attacked you the way those other students attacked him...would _that _be enough to make it Blaine's fault?"

"No!" He can feel the heat slipping down his cheeks, but he doesn't bother wiping it away this time. He shuts his eyes and shakes his head in denial. "It isn't the same. I should have known better."

"You're a gay teenager who is out of the closet and surrounded by loving family and caring friends. Why shouldn't you encourage someone else to follow your footsteps?"

"Because! The world doesn't _work _like that!"

"Some boys tell their fathers they're gay and get thrown out of their house, yes. And some victims confront their bullies and end up in a morgue."

It isn't this easy.

It can't be. There's no way that this can make sense. Of course it's Kurt's fault. Everything that happened, everything is Kurt's fault. He knows it, he accepts it. He's walked stooped under the weight of it since the day it happened.

It's not _possible _that he's being given permission to shrug it off, to put it on Dave's shoulders. It's not right that Dave should get blamed.

"I'd like to tell you something, Kurt. Purely theoretical, of course, since I will not give details about one of my patients to another. Theoretically, a victim of rape has a great many struggles to overcome as they recover. One of the biggest struggles is with the memory of their complete loss of control. Rape is a crime of power, not of passion. For male victims in particular the memory of being utterly helpless is one of the hardest things to get over."

Kurt can't stop the tears from slipping out one by one, but though she's blurred in his eyes he focuses on her, listens to her.

"If someone has lost their sense of control over themselves, refusing them further control is an act of cruelty. Even if it seems well-intentioned, even if giving them responsibility feels more like asking them to take on blame."

She regards him solemnly. "You are an intelligent young man who understands that the world is not always kind. When you decided to follow your abuser into a private place and confront him, you understood that whatever came of it was on your own shoulders. Don't refuse Dave the same control over his actions. He is a smart young man himself. When you asked him to think about what the worst that might happen would be, I'm sure he did just that. He thought. And then he made his choice and acted."

He shakes his head again helplessly, but he doesn't argue. There's something inside his chest that moves, shifts, but he doesn't know yet if the change is better or worse. It seems to make his tears worse, but he bows his head and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and that seems to help.

She doesn't speak. Silence falls and Kurt doesn't want to break it.

It would be a luxury to let himself believe her. The words make sense, in a way, and thinking about it compared to his taking Blaine's advice is startling because it hasn't occurred to him before.

He might have gotten hurt confronting Dave. He almost expected it. He almost _hoped _for it, like it would be some validation of his bravery. He would have walked out of there with a black eye or a split lip and would have held his chin high. It would have been a moral victory, a symbol of his courage.

He would have been proud of himself, and glad to have gotten the advice but not to the point where he would have given Blaine the credit for his actions.

And if things had gone bad, worse than a black eye or bloody lip...if he had ended up in the hospital, if Dave with his anger and his strength had hurt him badly, he wouldn't have let Blaine blame himself for a moment.

Doctor Maddie is right – it's almost insulting to think that when he steeled himself and walked into the locker room it had anything to do with Blaine. Blaine talked to him about courage, but the actual courage belonged to Kurt.

Maybe it's an insult to think that when Dave made up his mind to finally talk to his dad, it had anything to do with Kurt. If things had gone well, would Kurt have assumed it was all thanks to him? Would he smile and shake his head at how very lucky Dave was to have Kurt Hummel to tell him what to do?

Maybe, for a moment. Kurt's a little smug that way. But it wouldn't have been right. It would be unearned smugness.

It's easy to give advice. It takes no thought to say 'come out'. It takes no thought to say 'courage'.

The action is the only thing that matters. The coming out, and the act of confrontation. A Greek chorus can stand in the background and chant all they want, they don't drive the action of the play.

Dave thought about what Kurt said. He thought about it knowing his dad better than Kurt did, and understanding his friends in a way Kurt never will. He made up his mind, and he acted.

And it isn't Kurt's fault.

This should be such a thrilling revelation. This should make him happy, should be such a relief that he can't help but laugh his amazement.

Instead, he can't stop crying.

* * *

><p>She gets up and one point and goes behind her desk, and when she comes back he takes the stack of tissues in her hand with a wet laugh. He scrubs at his face and sniffles into the tissue, and when he lifts his eyes he's finally able to smile back.<p>

"Is it always like this?"

"What, therapy?" She laughs gently. "No, not always. Usually, moments of realization can be frustratingly hard to find." She regards him, and he doesn't doubt his face is red and his eyes are still wet and his smile is probably absurd. "So, what else have you been reading about on Wikipedia?"

He grins, but it fades a moment later.

There's a rush suddenly when he realizes that he can answer her. That she'll listen to him, and she probably won't even be surprised, and she'll actually tell him if he's being ridiculous.

He fists the wad of tissues in his hand. "I don't think I'm codependent," he blurts out. "I've thought about it a lot, and I know it would be easy to think I am, but I don't."

"Why not?"

"Because. Because I want him to get better. It will ache, maybe, a little bit, when he doesn't need me anymore. But I want that ache. If it means I lose him completely..." Kurt can't hide a frown at that. "I hope that won't happen, but if it's the way he has to go to get better, I'd choose it for him."

She smiles. "You've given this a lot of thought."

"But."

She waits dutifully.

He smiles weakly. "The other thing...I'm not so sure about. The...Florence Nightingale thing."

She smiles, eyebrows rising. In the smile he can see she knows where he's going. She's smart, and of course a psychologist will know what the Florence Nightingale effect is. She knows his situation, she knows the role he's taken in Dave's recovery.

She's probably already got his fears all figured out, but in her silence he knows she wants him to say more.

He opens his mouth to go on, but hesitates.

Since she's already aware of where he's going he doesn't bother explaining further. Instead he draws a breath, lets it out, and gets right to the heart of his dilemma. "Do you think it's possible to...feel too _much _for someone? Too many things?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean..." He frowns, gesturing absently between them. "I mean, is it possible to feel all these different little things and confuse them for something bigger?"

She regards him, still waiting.

He sighs. "If you really _like _someone, and you care about them, and you worry all the time, and you always want them around, and maybe you're even _really_ attracted to them...is it possible to feel all those things at once and mistake it for something else, like...love?"

She meets his eyes. "What do you suppose love is, if not all those things at once?"

Kurt's mouth opens. Then shuts.

If the epiphany about being allowed to let go of his guilt forced Kurt into tears...

This one leaves him utterly struck dumb.

* * *

><p>tbc<p> 


	28. Chapter 28

_Author's Note: I've run out of ways to say thank you to all of you, so. I'm just gonna shut up and post. _

* * *

><p>He doesn't know when it happened. That's what he thinks about the most on the slow, meandering drive he takes from the doctor's office back home. He has no idea when it happened, and that seems like a pretty big thing to have absolutely no idea about.<p>

If someone asked him an hour before his session if he loved Blaine, he would have said yes, and would only have hesitated the briefest moment. A month ago that hesitation wouldn't have happened. And now, after an hour with a nice woman in a Kate Spade dress suit, he wouldn't be able to answer the question at all.

He loves Blaine. Doesn't he? He's been pretty sure about that for quite a while now, and his feelings for Blaine haven't changed because of the last couple of months. Blaine is his boyfriend, his charming, cheerful boyfriend. Blaine sings to him and texts him, and danced with him at prom. Blaine is musical and stylish and dripping with stage presence. If someone who didn't know Blaine were asked to describe the perfect man for Kurt Hummel, they would describe Blaine.

He stares at photos of Blaine and sighs dreamily. He reads and rereads particularly lovely text and emails from weeks and months ago. He warms when Blaine holds his hand, and flushes when Blaine kisses him. Blaine is handsome and suave and talented, and surely there can be no one in the world better suited for Kurt than he is.

But.

He worries about Dave, and likes Dave, and cares about him, and misses him acutely when he's not around. He can't stop himself from admiring the green flecks in Dave's eyes, and the shapes of his different smiles. The way his cheek curves when he grins. The way his broad arms flex under his clothes.

He spends most of his time without Blaine around, and sometimes he does miss him. Dave, though...Kurt tries to imagine what things would have been like if Dave had accepted Kurt's help finding another place to live, and moved away to stay with Azimio or Coach Sylvester. He tries to imagine the small bedroom across the hall becoming a guest room again. He tries to imagine getting up in the morning and passing the door to that bedroom and not knocking, not murmuring good morning to the person inside.

An empty seat at the dinner table again. The street outside without Dave's truck parked on the side. Text messages that actually contain apostrophes. No juvenile shouting matches with Finn over the blast of video game gunfire. Night after night of sleep untroubled by Dave's nightmares. Day after day free from the clench of worry, the constant gnawing need to check on him, to make sure he's okay, to find out if even the smallest thing is wrong and then to act at once to make it better.

He tries to imagine his life without Dave, without the good and bad parts of having Dave there.

When Blaine isn't around Kurt goes on with things. When he thinks of Dave leaving, he has to fight not to pull over to the side of the road and call him just to hear his voice, just to make sure he'll be at home when Kurt pulls in.

What does he do, though, about the nagging worry that some of these feelings come from a place of worry, of protectiveness? Is he maybe scared to let Dave leave because he wants to protect him, or is he actually scared because his own life will be diminished without Dave, diminished beyond what he could tolerate?

He actually does pull over when the lights of a gas station appear. He's absurdly close to his house, but he stops and pulls in and decides to completely unnecessarily top off the gas tank. He's back in the driver's seat less than two minutes later, and that's not enough time, so he leaves the engine off and sits back in the driver's seat, and he tries to focus.

Ever since Blaine first told Kurt what it is that everyone but Kurt sees in Dave, Kurt has obsessed over Dave's feelings. Is it _love _that Dave feels or is it gratitude? Kurt has usurped his life, after all. He's always there, always helping. Dave has come to depend on him for a home, for sleep, for a smile, for a good morning.

Dave is grateful to him – he must be. He's thanked him often enough, and he'd told Kurt how lost he would have been if Kurt hadn't been there for him. Kurt has been, according to Dave, the one good thing he's had for days at a time since he was hurt so badly.

He can't go on thinking about it – he can think himself into endless circles as he has been since Blaine first made him see what everyone else sees, but that's useless.

Doctor Maddie's card is in his wallet – she told them after their first meeting that she is available to them outside of sessions if they need her. Dave, Kurt knows, has called her from school.

This is his first time.

"_Hello?" _she answers promptly, and it's only been half an hour or so since he left her office but he still relaxes just a little at the soft, accented voice.

"Can I ask you a potentially stupid question?"

"_Kurt?" _She seems torn between wanting to laugh and being concerned. _"Are you at home?" _

He looks out at the gas station, the stretch of asphalt and lines of squat pumps. "Almost."

She hums into the phone. _"What is your potentially stupid question?"_

"Is there a way," he says slowly, "to tell love from gratitude? To tell which one someone else might be feeling?"

She laughs softly, no doubt able to tell that he's basically been driving around carrying on the therapy session by himself since he left her office.

"_You might ask them," _she says simply. _"And it wouldn't hurt to keep in mind that the two things are not mutually exclusive."_

He knows what that means, at least what the words mean, but he can't help but clutch his phone to his ear and ask, holding his breath as if this is suddenly vitally important, "What do you mean?"

"_I mean that the two things don't exist in separate vacuums." _She sounds like she's smiling. _"If you're trying to interpret someone else's feelings, it isn't necessarily one or the other. Very likely, there's some of both." _

He thinks about that for a moment, and sighs. "That was both insightful and no help at all."

"_I hear that complaint from time to time," _she says. _"Kurt, there is no certain answer I can give you. I doubt if this person, whomever it might be, could tell you with complete certainty how they feel. But I wouldn't concern yourself too much with guessing this other person's feelings. You've got your own feelings to deal with, and that's a harder thing than most people realize."_

"But it matters. Doesn't it? How this other person feels?" Kurt has no doubt that they both understand who the 'other person' here is, but it's pretty obvious that if Dave has given Doctor Maddie any indication how he feels about Kurt, she isn't going to tell Kurt about it.

"_Of course it matters, but not when it comes to trying to figure your own emotions out. You can't wait on someone else for something as important and as personal as understanding your own feelings."_

He frowns out at the garish lights of the gas station lot, the movement ahead of him as a little run-down Civic pulls away from a tank. "You're saying that how he feels shouldn't effect how I feel?"

"_If you'll forgive me a drawn-out metaphor, I like to think of people like bubbles. When they run into each other sometimes they bounce off with no effect, and sometimes they stick together. Have you ever seen two bubbles in the air, sticking side to side? They travel together, they shape each other at the place where they are joined. They effect each other, but they don't absorb each other. In the end, no matter how many people have collided from you or joined to you, you are still your own enitity. You've got to make your way through life, trying to stay on whatever course you've selected, struggling not to hit the ground and burst. You can't hesitate and wait and hope that some other person will collide into you, and that their impact will steer you in some new and better direction. You're not being fair to yourself if you do that." _

"So...if I think I might love him..."

"_Then love him. Hope that he loves you too, respect however he does feel, and be true to yourself no matter what happens. In the end life is really just as simple as that." _

"Simple?" He shakes his head but smiles as she laughs softly in his ear. "Thanks, doc."

When he hangs up he only stays there at that gas station for a few more minutes, thinking her words through and trying to prepare himself for taking her advice.

* * *

><p>He walks into the house and nods at his dad and Carole when they call greetings from the couch. He starts right for the stairs, but hesitates long enough to look over at his dad.<p>

"The next time I see you I owe you the most humiliatingly overwrought hug in thanks for Doctor Maddie, but right now I've got something to do. Okay?"

Since his dad is worried about him, Kurt gives him a moment to make eye contact and nod in response. But that's all the time he gives him.

He's up the stairs in seconds, and he turns right in to Dave's door and knocks.

"Yeah?"

Kurt draws in a breath, turning the knob of his door. He's got no plan here, and maybe that was a mistake. He has no idea what being true to himself means in this case. It's only been a little over an hour since he was suddenly confronted with the fact that his feelings for his friend are nothing like he thought they were.

But he's good at being true to himself – he's done it most of his life. Besides, he doesn't necessarily have to say or so anything right now. Dave remains happily ignorant of the epiphanies of the evening, and Kurt shouldn't rush his way into anything anyway.

He lets out an uneven puff of air, and pushes the door open.

Dave sits on his bed, knees hiked up in front of him and his laptop balanced precariously on his legs. He looks up at Kurt and flashes a small smile. "Hey. How'd it go with the doc?"

Kurt returns the smile and moves to the bed and sits down on the other end. "I feel a little dehydrated, actually," he answers.

Dave blinks, but grins when he understands. "Yeah, been there. Shit, I don't know how that woman can say like three words in an hour and still make me fucking bawl."

Kurt nods. "She's a little scary."

And for that moment, things are normal. It's nice and warm and he's better for being there with Dave, but it's the same it's been for weeks now.

Then Dave stretches his legs out in front of him and shuts the lid on the laptop and looks at Kurt a little more seriously. "You're okay though, right? That shit can get kind of intense."

Kurt looks up and starts to smile, starts to say of course, and he's fine, and he thinks it's going to be dangerous having access to her personal cell phone so he can call her for revelations whenever he wants.

He starts to say all that, but his eyes catch on Dave's and he can see the green flickering in those hazel eyes, and he gets stuck.

Suddenly he can't separate Dave from the green in his eyes and the curve of his cheek when he smiles. He can't think of 'Dave' as one thing, and the concerned warmth of his smile as this separate entity.

Kurt loves those smiles, those eyes. He loves that Dave is a giant math geek in private, that he can quote physics theories and cook omelets. He loves the way Dave watches him in the darkness as he tries to fall asleep after a bad dream. He loves the grip of Dave's hand making Kurt feel like he's absolutely vital to Dave.

It's as simple as that, from one breath to the next. It's nothing like the revelation in Doctor Mad's office, though of course that was also an astonishingly simple moment. This, though, this isn't something that knocks the air out of him or leaves him feeling overwhelmed. This just is what is it.

One moment he's still wondering, still confused. The next moment...

Of _course _he loves Dave. He has for a while.

He doesn't know when it happened because there wasn't a single moment. It's a slide, and he's been slipping down it since...when? Since Figgins' office, when Dave was so awkward and well-mannered in front of all the grim adults? That might have been his first step down, or maybe it was the first time he saw Dave in his Bullywhip gear. Or the day Dave apologized to him outside of French class, unasked-for and sincere. Maybe that first awkward email, or the shy smile in the hallway after Kurt decided to stop thinking of him as Karofsky.

Maybe the locker room. Maybe, somehow, crouching there trying to catch a single breath, reaching for a pale, bleeding hand and listening to the painful rasp of Dave's breath, maybe that was the first step.

Maybe they all were. One after the other. Every moment leading him further and further down without his ever realizing it.

He doesn't know _when _it happened because maybe love doesn't work like that.

With Blaine it was a single moment. With Blaine it was an instant fall, a plunge off a cliff that gave him just long enough to think to himself, 'wow, that guy's pretty cute' before _splat. _Love.

And maybe that's the problem. There was that first moment, that completely life-altering moment. But once Kurt was at the bottom of the cliff there was nowhere to go from there.

He loved Blaine in a moment: moments come and go in a flash, and afterward there's nothing to do but move further and further away from it. Loving Dave has been a journey: moment after moment after moment, with no real start and no ending in sight.

Kurt has been confused, and aching, because he assumed it wasn't possible to love both Blaine and Dave without one of them being less real, less legitimate. He can see suddenly that he's not being fair to himself with that fear. His one moment with Blaine was overwhelming, and absolutely real. If not for Dave Kurt could have gone on being happy living in the residual glow of that old moment, and it wouldn't have been settling. It would have been real, and he would have been satisfied with it.

But he _loves_ Dave, and though his feelings for Blaine are real they are also past, and unchanging. He hasn't been able to fall deeper in love with Blaine, because he fell all he could fall that first huge moment.

With Dave every word, every breath, makes him fall deeper.

"Kurt?" Dave's smile is fading fast in the silence, as Kurt stares into space and tears through these thoughts. "Hey. You okay?"

Doctor Maddie is right. Kurt's not being fair to himself by wavering with indecision. He isn't being fair to Dave trying to make him prove himself and his feelings before Kurt will bother thinking about his own. He isn't being fair to Blaine, either.

He gets to his feet. He smiles at Dave – _love him_, his mind chants when he looks down into those concerned eyes, _love him love him love him_ – and taps the lid of the laptop.

"I've gotta go do something. Go on planting your crops or whatever."

Dave smiles after a moment, though he doesn't look entirely relieved. "Dude, I do not play fucking Farmville. I've banned that gaming shit from my Facebook since the day Z robbed one of my banks in Mafia Wars and wouldn't shut the fuck up about it in school. For fucking _days_."

Kurt grins, and he can't shut it out now that it's gotten through his mind – he loves Dave for the worry in his eyes and his rumble of a chuckle and the way he can't seem to leave the word 'fuck' out of any conversation held without adults around.

"Well, go on doing whatever non-gaming yet undoubtedly-macho activities you were doing when I came in."

Dave flips up the lid of the laptop. "Selling my cross-stitching on Etsy? Check, boss."

Kurt laughs, and loves Dave's wry humor and how no one has made Kurt laugh as hard as Dave has. Loves that Dave isn't so filled with macho angst that he can't make a joke about cross-stitching or admit to Kurt openly that he cries during his therapy sessions.

He can't turn it _off_, and he has to act now because he simply doesn't have a choice anymore. He can't stop seeing all the ways his feelings have changed. It's been hard enough not letting himself be just utterly focused on Dave every moment of the day. It's going to be impossible now, and whether Dave loves him back or not, Kurt has to be true to what's happening here.

* * *

><p>He steps into his own bedroom and pulls out his phone.<p>

"_Hey!" c_omes the cheerful greeting after the second ring.

Kurt has to do this, but that doesn't mean he's not miserable about it. "Hey, yourself."

"_Kurt, are you okay?" _Blaine picks up on his tone instantly, of course, and the cheer fades from his voice. _"Oh, you just got back from the doctor's office, right? How did it go?"_

Kurt opens his mouth to answer, but he stops himself. He can't get sidetracked. "Blaine. Can you drive down tomorrow?"

"_Drive...? Of course, if you need me to, absolutely. Is everything okay?" _

"Yeah." Kurt sighs. "No. We need to talk."

There's silence on the other end.

Kurt shuts his eyes. "Please come. I can't...I need to see you in person."

"_Okay." _Blaine's voice is hushed. _"I can come now?"_

Kurt laughs wetly. "It's late. Tomorrow is..." Unfair. Blaine must know, or suspect, or fear. But Kurt can't do this by phone – he loves Blaine, he owes him too much.

He draws in a breath. "I've got brunch with Mercedes and Tina that I can't get out of, but...around two, maybe? Please?"

"_Okay. Two." _Blaine drags in air like he wants to say more, but sighs into the phone. _"Good night, Kurt." _

He hangs up before Kurt can answer, and Kurt can't blame him but it still aches.

He sets his phone down and sits on his bed, and almost wishes he let Blaine drive down now, or offered to meet him halfway at Rosita's. Or didn't have plans for high tea at some hotel that Mercedes had reserved them for weeks ago when they first heard about it (because honestly, high tea? Kurt is a stylish gay boy, high tea in an expensive hotel is like the culmination of dreams).

He wants to go back to Dave's room, to just sit with him. To let Dave's presence make him feel better. But that's not fair, and it's not what would happen. Kurt would cheer himself up with laughter and jokes and shared concerns, letting his brain say _love him love him love him _until he doesn't have to think about tomorrow anymore.

He won't let himself do that. Being true to himself means being honest the way he prides himself in being. Being honest to Blaine by talking to him before indulging his feelings any further, and being honest to Dave by not going in there and sitting on his bed and _loving_ him while he still calls another boy his boyfriend.

It would be easy for Kurt to say something to Dave, to talk this out, to say enough to test out Dave's feelings and make sure that Dave actually does love him back before he ends things with Blaine. But that's not fair either. Being true to himself means that when Kurt realizes he loves someone else, he ends things with his boyfriend. He doesn't wait to make sure things will work out with Dave. He isn't allowed to have a fallback plan. He cares about Blaine too much, and he cares about doing the right thing with Dave too much.

Which doesn't mean that at least a large part of tomorrow isn't going to absolutely suck.

* * *

><p>Shockingly, high tea at the Marriott in elegant downtown Lima turns out to be a disappointment. It's a little less Sex and the City and more...Tales from the Crypt.<p>

Kurt isn't the best judge, really. He wakes up dreading the day and that doesn't go away even when he's sitting in the dining room of a mid-range hotel with his two best friends from school. They dress for the occasion – you can't go to high tea without your finest hat, obviously – and it should be fun even if they're the only people under sixty in the entire place.

His mood is obvious, and by the end of the last tray of scones and jam he can't even pretend anymore.

He makes feeble excuses and leaves early – they're talking about going to the mall after this, and he can't subject them to his presence anymore. Mercedes gives him a rather blatant 'we're gonna talk about this, oh yes we are' look but lets him go without much argument.

He checks his phone about five times during the drive home, but Blaine hasn't called or texted all day.

He'll come, Kurt knows it, and he can't blame Blaine for reading enough into their stunted conversation last night to know that it's not the kind of trip that calls for cheerful text messages about the landmarks he's passing on the trip. He just wishes he knew when and where and what kind of mood he'll be in and what he's guessed or assumed or...

Kurt knows he's doing the right thing. There's no getting around it. He loves two guys in two different ways, but one of them he sighs about with gushing fondness, the other one has become so intrinsically part of Kurt that he would shred bits of Kurt's _soul _away if he ever left.

That's not a subtle difference, and acting on it is the right thing to do.

He tells himself that, over and over again. He's doing the right thing by ending things with Blaine before he even knows if Dave loves him back. Blaine deserves better than a boyfriend who loves someone else more than him.

Still, noble thoughts don't do much to make his stomach settle now that he's actually driving home and expecting Blaine soon after.

His worries and fears and nerves keep him pretty distracted for most of the trip. Until he pulls onto his street and sees a very familiar black Jetta is already parked outside.

Blaine is already here.

Oh, god. Blaine is here and Finn is spending the day with Puck and Kurt's parents planned to spend most of the day touring home improvement stores for ideas for the so-far-unaddressed back yard of the new house.

Blaine is home and Dave is home.

Kurt manages to put the car into park, get his seat belt off, and get himself out of the car and halfway to the door before he knows it. He jams his key in the lock a couple of times, and charges through to come to the rescue of...whichever of them needs the most rescuing.

Blaine is sitting in an armchair in the living room, sipping from Kurt's dad's ancient Bassmasters coffee mug. He twists when Kurt bursts in, his eyebrows hiking up and his amusement plain.

Kurt gapes at him, looking around for Dave instantly.

The door to the kitchen opens.

"Hey, so what do you think about..." Dave moves in with his own steaming cup. He stops when he sees Kurt, and smiles weakly. "Hey. You're kinda early."

"I...I left the...what...? And both..."

Dave's smile grows at that. "Wow, Fancy." He moves in and drops on the couch, nodding at Blaine. "What do you think?"

Blaine turns to him with a smile. "You're right, it's a pretty big difference."

Kurt moves in, looking from one to the other of them. "What in the _hell_."

"Coffee," Dave answers innocently. He stretches out his mug. "The benefits of adding cinnamon. Want some?"

"I just drank about eighty cups of a variety of teas, I'm all set." It's clear they're not at each other's throats. They don't even seem awkward. What's not clear is _anything else._

"Okay, what's happening here?" Kurt shoves his keys in his pocket and moves to the couch, and he appreciates that his panicked entrance was maybe amusing, but. Enough is enough.

"I came down a little early," Blaine says from the armchair across from Kurt. "I wanted to have a talk with Dave."

Kurt blinks at him, and looks over at Dave fast, searching.

Dave flashes a smile, but there are a lot of things going on in his eyes and Kurt isn't sure how to interpret most of them. He doesn't seem tense, at least.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," Blaine goes on after a pause.

Kurt turns to him again, and Blaine sits there as dapper as ever, smiling as he balances his coffee on his crossed legs. He's got a calmness to him that Kurt knows well, a sort of centeredness that he tends to adopt during the many occasions when he's helped Kurt with some problem or some aspect of being gay or out or a dozen other things.

It's his Mentor calmness, and Blaine sitting so near with that expression on his face makes Kurt ache somewhere really deep.

He can feel himself relaxing just a little, despite the ache, and he sits down carefully on the couch and regards Blaine.

Blaine smiles, but his eyes slide over to Dave and his smile fades. "I like to think that I can admit when I'm out of line. Or just plain wrong. I was bothered by what happened between us. By my part of it, at least." He looks back at Kurt. "You told me later that I was being a prick." The word sounds strange slipping from Blaine's precise mouth, and he smiles a little as if he can hear it himself. "That I was telling a hurt and unwillingly un-closeted guy that he had no place at a PFLAG meeting."

He looks back at Dave. "When I thought about that, I realized that you were right, Kurt. I basically attacked Dave for his interest in helping to begin a support group, and...that's pretty much unconscionable. But what I said, when I worried about the effect Dave would have on others who might come to your meetings, I believed that. I had a hard time reconciling the two."

Kurt's eyes go over to Dave. Dave is listening to him, but he's obviously heard it before. They must have talked all this out before Kurt came home.

"A couple of days ago I went to one of the PFLAG meetings in Westerville that I used to go to a lot. I talked to one of my old mentors, a man who helped me out when I first got to Dalton." Blaine smiles ruefully. "I explained most of what happened, and he basically let me have it. He pointed out to me that I used him as a mentor, and that I have mentored others, but the point of PFLAG and groups like it isn't to pair troubled kids with counselors. The point is that a confused and scared kid like I was can walk into a room and look around and see a dozen faces of people who are going through the exact same things he is. To talk to people who share the confusion and fear, and to know that they aren't alone. To talk and to listen without judgment."

He turns to Dave, and though he's probably said this already in some form, he sounds more forceful suddenly. "I don't see a scared gay teenager when I look at you, and that's my fault. When I went to my first PFLAG meeting there was this girl there, this gorgeous Hispanic girl, and I wondered what she was doing there. I wanted a meeting full of scared boys like me who had been bashed and harassed and ostracized because of being gay, and I assumed that no one like her would understand. After all, being a gay man makes you the target of hatred. Being a beautiful girl who kisses girls makes you the target of a lot of lustful stares. The culture isn't the same." He looks down at his coffee mug, brow furrowed. "When she started talking about her life, about her religious family and the close-knit culture of the community she lived in, and how she lost all of it when she tried to bring her girlfriend home from college, I felt _ashamed._ She did know, she knew some lessons better than I did. "

He draws in a breath and looks back at Dave. "Being gay doesn't have one face. I thought I learned that lesson, but then you showed up. The king of your high school, strong and popular and frightening, and I _knew _you wouldn't be able to understand the problems someone like me has to deal with. Even now no one who looks at you would assume you were gay and hate you for it, the way they instantly hate someone like me, or Kurt. You wouldn't be able to talk about that hatred. You wouldn't be able to talk about being bullied, because you were the bully. You can't talk about being called a faggot, because you still use that word yourself. In my mind you were the opposite of me, and Kurt, and our experiences, and you simply had nothing to say that anyone at a support meeting needed to hear."

Dave flashes a faint smile. "I gotta admit, it's pretty ironic to get hated for not being gay enough."

And then Kurt knows for sure that they've talked this out already. He looks from Dave to Blaine, and he's struck by the look in Blaine's eyes.

The words he's saying are harsh, but they're also an apology. The things he's telling Dave that he believed about him are past tense.

Blaine nods over at Kurt, as if reading his expression. "I stayed for that meeting the other night, and talked this out in front of the group of them. What I learned from the older men in the group, or the girls who weren't either gorgeous or completely butch, that there is this expectation that being gay is a thing that belongs to young, handsome, stylish boys, and those who don't fall into that category can war with that as much as any other aspect of being gay. It was humbling, this idea that I'm as guilty as stereotyping and labeling as any of the homophobes I hate so much."

Dave shrugs. "I've been doing that most of my life, it's not something I can fault you for."

"Well, that's the galling thing. I'm supposed to be better than you."

Dave laughs at that.

Blaine looks over at Kurt. "I came down early to apologize to Dave for the things that I said. And to talk out a few other things."

Kurt's eyes narrow. "What other things?"

"None of your business," Blaine answers him primly, making Dave laugh again. "But you can relax. We came out the other side alive. I'm even willing to concede that there's something almost endearing about all that ridiculous macho posturing and needless profanity."

"Dude. I'm right fucking here." Dave scowls without heat. "But, okay, sure, I'll admit that all that fucking product in your hair actually works pretty well for you."

Blaine smiles. "Ask nicely sometime and I'll show you one of the rare photos of the brown cotton puff my head turns into when I don't use anything to tame the curls."

"Wait, what? There are photos?" Kurt shakes his head the moment he says those words, because he wants to play along with this. He's happy, he's _thrilled _that Blaine and Dave spoke, made some kind of peace.

But for the love of a most holy and nonexistent _god_, did it have to happen right now?

He lifts a hand a rubs at his face, battling with himself in this almost cheerful moment. He's done nothing undoable. All he has to do is make up some reason why he wanted him to come down, something else. It wouldn't be hard, he came out of his first full session with a therapist before making that call, surely other things might have been upsetting him.

But he doesn't want that, and this unexpected twist, these grins between Blaine and Dave, this temporary peace in the air...it makes it even harder to take the next big step.

Dave clears his throat suddenly, getting to his feet with his carefully-balanced cup of coffee. "Okay, you two guys have shit to do or whatever, and historically being your third wheel hasn't work out too well for me, so. I'm going upstairs."

Kurt smiles at him as he slips past, and he reaches out before he can stop himself to lay his hand on Dave's arm.

Dave pauses and looks down at him, eyebrows raised. Maybe he sees the glitter of concern in Kurt's eyes because he smiles faintly. It's an 'I'm okay, Fancy, chill' smile.

Kurt relaxes and drops his hand, and watches Dave until he gets to the staircase.

When he turns back, he looks right at Blaine and his heart crackles just a little bit. He's so adorable there in his too-formal-for-a-Saturday slacks and shirt, hair impeccable, eyebrows fierce as ever.

He listens to Dave's footsteps as he jogs up the stairs, and that settles him a little bit.

"So," Blaine says suddenly, a moment after the sound of Dave's bedroom door shutting filters down to the silent living room. "I'm glad you asked me to come here, because I need to tell you something."

Another distraction, another possibly side-track. But Kurt draws in a breath and allows it, selfishly. "What's that?"

"I've met someone."

Kurt blinks.

Blaine meets his eyes calmly, but as he speaks his gaze lowers just a little. "I haven't cheated on you. I wouldn't do that. But I met someone in Westerville and I think there might be something there."

"What...?" Kurt shakes his head, and his whole focus is here now. No more Dave, no more Doctor Maddie. He watches Blaine, absolutely caught off guard. "What?"

Blaine lifts his mug and sips his coffee. His brow is smooth, his eyes wide open and locked just south of Kurt's startled gaze. "I...I'm sorry."

There isn't a second when Kurt actually believes it.

Kurt has been fascinated by Blaine for far longer than they've been dating. He studied the boy for weeks before Blaine looked back at him. He knows his tells. He knows a lie when it shows on Blaine's face.

He just can't figure out _why. _

Blaine lowers the mug and looks behind Kurt. "I'm sorry to put this on you when you have so much going on here, but...in a way I might be doing you a favor. Things here need your focus, and now I won't be a...a _distraction_ for you."

Oh, god.

Kurt is off the couch in a moment, and Blaine's coffee cup tips and Kurt doesn't even care that some spills onto the carpet. He is there at Blaine's side in an instant, and he doesn't even know how to react now that he's here.

Blaine is lying, this is a _lie. _Because Blaine knows why Kurt wants him here. Because he wants to spare Kurt from having to do this himself? Because he wants to save some face by being the one to say the words?

Because of exactly what he just said, that he knows Kurt is struggling with a lot and wants to make things simpler for him?

Whatever it is, it's horrible and painful and Kurt doesn't know if it's okay to feel grateful, but he does.

Blaine sets the cup on the coffee table and stands up. He reaches for Kurt's hands, but of course they fall together and his arms loop around Kurt and Kurt grips the back of his shirt as they collide in each other's grasp.

He doesn't bother trying to stop the tears, but he doesn't play along with the ruse. He'll let Blaine do this, but he won't bother playing the role of the wronged, injured ex. He won't ask about this mysterious someone, won't demand to know why. And maybe his silence makes it too obvious that he knows Blaine is lying, but maybe the words are the important things.

He gasps in a breath against Blaine's shoulder, squeezing him tightly. "I love you," he says, and he's sincere.

Blaine laughs softly, and there's so much pain there that it might as well be a sob. "I love you, too."

Kurt knows Blaine. Blaine is crazy about Kurt, but the love part...it was a slower path for him than for Kurt, and it always did feel like Blaine was just meandering down that path, in no hurry to get where Kurt was.

Blaine will be okay. He'll drive back to Dalton and probably have a few good cries and suggest a few morbid sectionals themes that the other Warblers will wisely reject, and then he'll call Kurt to vent his annoyance at Wes and how he doesn't understand Blaine's artistry. And he will meet someone, because he's amazing. Because he's flawed and judgmental and he can be a prick, but he's doing _this, _this amazing and horrible thing, for Kurt. For Dave, for what he's probably known was coming for longer than Kurt has.

Kurt isn't going to lose him. Blaine is beautiful and talented and smart and Kurt refuses to let him go completely. They were friends once, good friends, and whatever Kurt has to do, they'll be that again.

He loves Blaine, and he might have loved him forever if the last few months had happened differently.

He pulls back and makes a little sound in his throat when he sees the wet lines down Blaine's cheeks. He reaches out and wipes at the tears, ignoring the heat slipping down his own face.

"Can we still meet some Saturdays?" he asks, and the words shake and crackle.

Blaine laughs. "Rosita does make amazing cheesecake." He meets Kurt's eyes and smiles, though the tears don't stop. "Give me a few days before you call, but..." He shakes his head.

Kurt understands. He reads his own thoughts on Blaine's face. Maybe this isn't the ultimate love for either of them, but it's not something they're prepared to lose entirely.

He nods. He reaches out now and squeezes Blaine's hands tightly. He leans in and kisses him, light and simple, and it's already different.

Blaine draws in a shaky breath when they pull apart. "Kurt..."

Kurt looks at him with probably-blatantly-adoring eyes.

Blaine nods back towards the staircase going up to the second story. "Be careful with him." He smiles sadly, reaching out and brushing his fingertips over Kurt's jawline. "This would be so much worse if I didn't see that he needs you more than I do." He drops his hands and steps back, clearing his throat. "And...make it last forever, okay? Because if something's going to come between us it had better be something huge."

It feels strange to nod, as if despite Blaine's words Kurt is doing him a disservice.

But this _is _huge. It's not even real yet, not even in the open between Kurt and Dave, but it's so huge that Kurt has been living in its shadow for weeks and weeks and hasn't even noticed.

"Oh, and..." Blaine draws in a sudden breath, and his expression shifts into something grim. "I should probably warn you. Mercedes adores me, she's going to make your life hell for this."

Kurt laughs until it becomes a sob, and when Blaine opens his arms Kurt lets himself be selfish one last time, and he steps up and hugs him again.

* * *

><p>There's a sheet of torn notebook paper on Kurt's bed, and he recognizes the jagged handwriting on the front thanks to his and Dave's homework sessions together.<p>

He moves up slowly, already drained from the day and hardly able to work up any real fear about the note, or why Dave would be leaving notes in the first place. He just isn't sure he's ready for it. Not ten minutes after watching Blaine's car pull away.

_Fancy,_

_One of the other things Blaine wanted to talk about was you. I wont go into detail but he thinks you should listen to this, and its dumb but I guess I do, too. He says that sometimes the shit we think is obvious isnt. He also says youre really fucking dumb about some things. _

_Anyway. Here. Im not trying to make problems for anyone, but he said you should know and it turns out hes a pretty smart guy when hes not being a complete douche. Just dont hate me. He promised you wouldnt and Id hate to have to kick his ass now. _

_-Dave_

_PS – I left off all my apostrophes because I know you love that. Youre welcome._

Kurt looks back at his bed, and the piece of paper had been laid on top of Dave's iPod. He frowns and leans in to pick it up, and looks back at the note.

It seems lighthearted enough, but the paper is crumbled and the writing is jagged and deep. It was hard to write, and Kurt understands why.

He moves to his desk and pulls out his chair. He unfastens his headphones from the computer jack and plugs them in to the iPod.

He turns it on, finds the playlists. Finds _Fancy._ Selects.

He draws in a breath and sits back, shutting his eyes to listen.

* * *

><p>tbc<p> 


	29. Chapter 29

_Author's Note: Some of you have expressed interest: personally, I don't recommend anyone recreate Dave's playlist, because. Damn._

* * *

><p>He's ready, he's braced.<p>

That's what Kurt tells himself as the first few notes of an unfamiliar song filter through his headphones.

He knows Dave, after all. He knows that Dave loves him, that Dave has probably loved him for a while. Longer than even Kurt realizes.

Kurt understands all that, and so he knows what must be coming. It hurts to love someone who doesn't love you back. Kurt has been there. He listened to all kinds of overwrought tunes on Blaine's behalf, or (more embarrassingly) on Finn's. He even had a short-lived torch song phase for Sam Evans.

He already knows going into this that there's some pretty eclectic stuff on the list – when he first peeked at the list he noticed names like Roberta Flack and Tom Waits, older, serious musicians that Kurt knows about but isn't crazy for, along with more modern rock stuff that Kurt only peripherally knows through Finn or other guys at McKinley.

He isn't even surprised anymore that names on this list surprise him. He knows enough about Dave by now not to assume anything about his taste in music, or anything else for that matter.

His plan is to listen to at least most of the playlist, and then go talk to Dave about it. He planned to go over to Dave's room and talk before he ever saw the note and the iPod on his bed – he's tired of delaying, tired of feeling like he's stuck on this precipice and life has slowed to a stop just waiting for him to step off, or back away. He needs to talk to Dave, to be entirely open and honest, to see where they both stand and where they can go from here.

But the songs threaten to derail him.

The first song that comes up, as if by fate, is 'Mad World'. Kurt knows this song, though he's familiar with a different version than the one Dave has.

He listens to most of it, this slower and less showy, melancholy version of an already melancholy song. Then he skips ahead, because he knows the song, and the line that mentions dreams about dying makes Kurt strangely tense.

The songs that come next...

It's not unrequited love. It's not generic angst about being alone. It's nothing so vague, or so predictable. He only listens for a few minutes before the sheer bitterness of the music threatens to choke him.

None of them are familiar, but every one of them sticks in his mind – lines, tunes, the sullen music and the pained voices.

_Self-inflicted circus clown/I'm tired of the song and dance/Living a charade, always on parade/What a mess I've made of my existence._

_I wake up, it's a bad dream/No one on my side, I was fighting/But I just feel too tired to be fighting_

Coldplay, which surprises Kurt until he listens to the words. _Just because I'm hurting doesn't mean I'm hurt/Doesn't mean I didn't get what I deserved. _Some female singer with a strained voice that Kurt doesn't recognize: _I'm not as callous as you think/I__ barely breath when you are near/I'm getting smaller by degrees/You said you'd help me disappear._

Gnarls Barkley, and it's around this time that Kurt realizes he's got tears slipping down his face._ And I've tried/Everything but suicide/But it's crossed my mind._

One by one he listens to the songs, listens to the words. He can feel the bitterness of it, the self-hatred, the misery of living a life that's a lie.

Dave has told him once or twice why he hated Kurt so much, what he represented in Dave's mind: someone who had the guts to not live the lie Dave was living. Someone stronger, someone braver. That's what these songs are about: not the strength Kurt has, but the weakness Dave despises in himself.

That's what Kurt has made Dave feel.

Just when he thinks that there's nothing on this list but contempt and self-loathing, he gets to the kind of songs he'd been expecting to find, the ones where this person who utterly hates himself talks about loving someone else.

There's a Radiohead song that Kurt knows, that probably everybody knows_: I want you to notice when I'm not around/ You're so fucking special/I wish I was special._

A voice Kurt recognizes but a song he doesn't: _Who's breathless now, who only hyperventilates?/Who'd die for you, who's dying inside anyway?/Which one of us is sunshine and which one's growing dim?/Two men dream of you at night, do you just dream of him?_

_It's just you and me against me._ This song Kurt heard before, the first time in the hospital that he tapped into this playlist. _The mirror is a trigger and your mouth's a gun._

A slower kind of dirge: _I pray you've heard the words I've spoken/Dare to believe, only one last time/Then I'll let the darkness cover me/Deny everything._

The newer rock songs, the older classics, they're all the same. From Ella Fitzgerald (_They're writing songs of love, but not for me/A lucky star's above, but not for me_) to the whiskey-rough voice of Tom Waits (_Nobody, nobody will ever love you/the way I could love you_). The occasional surprisingly pop top 40s song (_I can't take it, I don't understand/If I'm not made for you then why does my heart tell me that I am?) _and fringe singers like Rickie Lee Jones (_He goes to sleep at night/He don't turn off the light/And wonder how to find me/Or if I'm alone._).

The feeling linking these songs isn't something as ordinary as unrequited love. It's songs about people who don't deserve the love that they want, and _hate_ themselves for it. Even the songs where that message isn't at all clear cut are changed by their presence in this playlist.

Even a gorgeous classic ballad, even Roberta Flack singing _The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face, _takes on this aching, depressing quality. Like she's only fantasizing about someone she'll never have. Like the soft note in her voice is grief, not love.

Kurt has to cut the songs off one by one, when he hears enough to get the point and can move on to the next. Always, every press of the button to push to the next song, he hopes for something different. Something with even the slightest shred of optimism.

But it doesn't come. There's song after song of resignation, jealousy, anger, misery. There isn't a single song about anything like hope. It's love, it's clearly love, but it's so painful and hopeless that it _hurts. _It's love as something tragic.

In desperation he cuts off the song that's playing (_Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you) _and scans the handful of songs remaining. He has to rub wetness from his eyes to see the small screen clearly, and he spots a name that made him laugh when he first noticed it on the list weeks ago.

Tom Jones. What in the world could _Tom Jones _have sung that's as hopeless as the rest of this list?

He jabs at the song, shutting his eyes, waiting with nerves churning in his stomach. Hoping for something better.

_I, I who have nothing  
>I, I who have no one<br>Adore you, and want you so  
>I'm just a no one,<br>With nothing to give you but oh  
>I love You<em>

He, He buys you diamonds  
>Bright, sparkling diamonds<br>But believe me, dear when I say,  
>That he can give you the world,<br>But he'll never love you the way  
>I love You<p>

Kurt is shaking his head by the end of the second verse, by the swell of the music and the end of those drawn-out, pained words.

Dave loves him. Dave loves him without hope, without any belief that anything will come of it.

It's not Kurt's blindness that made him unaware of Dave's feelings for so long. He's obtuse, yes, but he's kept absolutely all of his focus on Dave Karofsky for weeks now. Nobody is _that_ obtuse.

He hasn't noticed because Dave gives him no indication. However Dave looks at Kurt when Kurt isn't looking back, however he acts that seems so obvious to everyone else, he doesn't let anything slip to Kurt himself. Because he doesn't believe there's any point to it. His love for Kurt isn't something he needs to confront Kurt with. It's a burden that he has to carry. And that's all.

Kurt might have been able to talk himself into indecision after hearing this list. He might have been able to stall and postpone and debate back and forth, despite breaking things off with Blaine, despite Doctor Maddie and her bubble talk.

This is a huge thing, a scary thing, and Kurt might have been able to be slow and cautious about it.

But not now.

* * *

><p>He turns off the music and wipes his eyes and the time it takes him to get from his bed to Dave's bedroom door is too much time to delay getting this out into the open.<p>

He doesn't wait for Dave to answer, doesn't pause between pounding on the door and pushing it open. He shuts the door fast behind him, leaning against it, holding out the iPod like an accusation.

"Do you still feel this way?" he asks, and his voice is shaking and the tears are still in his eyes so much that Dave is this blur sitting on his bed.

There's a stunted pause, a shift from the blurry figure on the bed.

"Fuck," Dave says in answer, low and echoing with the kind of despondency that Kurt would expect from someone with this horrible playlist on his horrible iPod. "I'm going to fucking kill him."

"Answer me!" Kurt wipes at his eyes, moving to the bed and flinging the iPod away from him. It bounces on the mattress and falls to the floor with a thunk, but he doesn't pay it another moment's thought. "Do you still feel like this?"

When his vision clears enough between blinks he sees Dave come into focus, his head tilted back against the wall, his throat exposed, his eyes shut.

"Kurt. I told you...I said I didn't want to make any problems for you, or..."

"Not about _me! _This isn't about me! Do you still feel like this about _yourself_?"

Dave's eyes open, his head drops, he's pale and drawn and it looks like he's aged three decades since he left Kurt and Blaine downstairs earlier. "What?"

Kurt shakes his head, moving to the bed, fisting his hands to try to keep the tears at bay. "God, Dave, I can't..." He sits heavily on the edge of the bed, leaning in and dropping his face into his hands. "I can't _stand _seeing the way you think about yourself. Since the beginning, since you sent me those emails insisting you still had some penance to serve for a couple of mistakes you made months ago. The way you compare yourself to those bastards who hurt you, and the _pills_, and..."

Dave shifts behind him, and his hesitant answer is quiet and close behind Kurt. "It's...I'm better now. In a lot of ways. Really."

Kurt shakes his head. "I get so scared for you sometimes. That no matter what I say or do, those horrible thoughts in your head are still going to be louder than me."

"Like anyone can get a word in when you want to make a point." Dave tries for the joke, laughs thinly, and sighs when it all falls flat between them. "I'm better, Kurt. I promise."

Kurt drags in breath after breath, and when Dave's hand appears as a warm weight on his back, it does actually help him get at least a little bit centered.

"The doc's gonna help. She is already. And you...Jesus, Kurt, I can't even tell you. I hear you in my head, I swear I do. I start thinking that same dark shit, and then these new thoughts show up and drown them out, and they sound just like you. I hear you tell me I'm not anything like those guys, or that the things I did to you don't matter anymore. I know I'm different than I was."

Kurt nods his agreement, his hope.

"You help, and the doc helps, and...hockey helps, and school. All of it. I promise. I don't..." Dave falters.

Kurt turns to him, twisting his leg up on the bed to take him in.

Dave's hand drops from him. He sits there, knees drawn up, and there's pain in his face but it isn't like the horrible dark self-loathing that Kurt used to see flashes of. It's not the pain that those songs spoke of.

"I don't even have to listen for you anymore, in the mornings," he says, looking away from Kurt. "I've got other good things again. Even if you're the best thing, I've got other things now. Christ, the last thing I was trying to do was make you feel guilty, or..."

Kurt laughs at that, thin and watery "I don't feel guilty," he says honestly. "I wish I had noticed sooner, but...I've been trying my best, Dave. I can't do more than I'm doing to help you, I can't feel guilty for that."

"You shouldn't." Dave braves a smile. "You've done more than anyone else ever could have. And...you haven't said anything about...the rest of it, but you should know. I don't expect anything more from you. I'm _happy_, Kurt. I swear, I'm good with things how they are. Blaine said I should let you know...but I don't need anything from you. God, he was so fucking_ insistent_ that I should let you know..." He stops, frowns, brow furrowed. Probably trying to figure out Blaine and his reasons for all but shoving Dave at his boyfriend with confessions of his feelings.

He shakes his head after a moment. "I just don't want things to go bad with us, Kurt. I can handle anything else in the world, but I can't lose you."

Kurt meets his eyes, and his shock and grief and anger over those songs on that horrible playlist fade back.

Something else, something bigger and more urgent and somehow softer, takes the place of even fear.

He holds Dave's gaze. "Blaine and I broke up."

Dave swallows. He searches Kurt's face instantly, though his own expression doesn't change much. "What?"

"Downstairs, after you left." Kurt draws a breath and holds it. "But it should have been sooner. I should have ended things with him weeks ago, the first time I realized that there was someone more important than him in my life."

Dave's mouth shuts, his lips pressing tight together. He searches Kurt's face, his eyes, more urgently.

"I don't think..." Kurt's voice shifts and he swallows again, coats his throat. "I don't think he was so insistent because he could tell how you felt, Dave. It's because he could tell how _I _felt."

"What..." Dave tries, and stops, and it's a croak of a word but it's all he can seem to manage.

His eyes are shuttered, guarded, and Kurt hates these moments when he can see Dave hiding from him. It never works – Kurt knows him too well by now.

Dave's eyes are hiding from him, but his pale, drawn face looks naked and abandoned without Kurt's fingers.

Kurt reaches out, because he has to. Because his fingertips ache until the moment they catch on Dave's jawline, and the backs of his fingers need to trail upwards, to trace the shadows of his cheekbone.

Dave shakes his head as Kurt touches him. His face turns to the side, as if to pull away, but he doesn't go any farther. He swallows, Kurt can hear it in the silence.

"Kurt. This isn't...God, don't do this to me. Please. It's not why I..."

Kurt smiles, because Dave might be able to hide his eyes but Kurt knows him. He knows his voice, the shudder in his words, the fierce control that's slipping and the beginnings of the most painful kind of hope.

This is so huge; it's the cliff, the precipice, and he's stepping off so much easier than he would have thought.

This admission of his feelings...when revealing them was about Kurt, he hesitated and debated and played Hamlet with his indecision. Now that his feelings are meant for Dave, to take the pain from him, it's a million times easier.

Kurt will do _anything _for Dave. He's known that for a while. He'll fight against any kind of threat, he'll face things he never would have before. He'll put himself second without even a thought. He'll risk everything for him, and that's exactly what he's doing here. He has risked his safety, his sleep, his well-being, his sense of security about the entire world around him.

Risking his feelings is so ridiculously simple he's only surprised that he held out this long.

"It has nothing to do with what you did," he says, smiling helplessly. "I would have come in here anyway, before I found your note and those songs. For once this isn't about you, Dave."

Dave swallows and his breathing is uneven, and he doesn't look back at Kurt.

"This is about me. This is me being selfish. This is about me not being satisfied with the charming, talented, well-groomed guy who already loves me, because I want more."

"More?" Dave laughs, thick, and there's some of that old self-hatred again.

"More." Kurt slips his fingers back, over Dave's ear and through his short, thick dark hair. "I've given it a lot of thought lately, Dave. You know what I want?"

Dave shakes his head, holding unnaturally still under the touch of Kurt's hand.

"I want...omelets. And profanity, and physics. I want _shawarma, _and...and a life freed from the burden of apostrophes, and someone who can make me laugh harder than I ever have before, who can make me touch my nose in the middle of the school lunch room in the name of some scientific word I can't even remember."

Dave laughs again, choked but without the bitter edge. His eyes lift a little, but he can't seem to look at Kurt yet.

Kurt strokes his hand through Dave's hair, and the freedom of it is dizzying. He doesn't have to make it about comfort, he doesn't have to restrict his touching to soothing gestures or calming moments.

He studies Dave, wanting to make him smile so that he can finally give in to his urges and stroke the curve of his cheek.

"I want," he says after a moment, "someone who wants me so badly that he listens to horrible songs to convince himself that he can't have me. I want someone whose laughter over the phone can make me shiver so badly I lose _time_. Someone who is so strong that he can pick himself up after going through the worst thing I've ever seen. Someone who can lose _everything,_ and can still smile because he has me. _Me. _Irritating, prissy little Kurt Hummel."

Dave's gaze lifts at that, eyes way too bright but without a single shield between him and Kurt. In that gaze is every ounce of the hope that Kurt was hoping to hear in those songs. It's tempered with traces of disbelief, but nothing that Kurt can't work to banish away.

Kurt meets his eyes, completely open and exposed because there's nothing but sincerity in these words, and he wants Dave to be able to see that.

"I want a _jock,_" he says with a smile. "I want to go to games and watch big guys on ice skates hit things with sticks, and I want to be able to point out which one of those guys is _mine_. I want to roll my eyes at how ridiculous hockey is, but cluck over every bruise and patch up every scrape." He smiles more softly at Dave. "I want to sing during glee performances to someone in the audience who I just know will be watching me like I'm the entire world."

He frees his fingers from Dave's hair and brushes the backs of his fingers under Dave's eye, catching a streak of moisture. "Just like this," he says, voice uneven as Dave blinks and more moisture slips down his face.

Dave's expression shifts, his eyes shutting and his control slipping.

Kurt holds his breath, and his voice is barely above a whisper by now, and it hurts and it's huge but he goes on without letting it choke him.

"I love you, Dave," and the words have never felt this good, this vital, "and I want to be with the guy I love."

"_Kurt._" It's strangled and broken, and his voice dissolves before he can say more. Dave starts to raise his hands, to cover his face.

But Kurt catches his hands and slides his fingers through, holding tight. He shuts his eyes, because even if it isn't grief, even if it's the pain of hope that's causing it, he still can't stand to see tears on Dave's face.

"Jesus," Dave forces out, choking on his own breath. "I used to think I was weak compared to you, but...it's not just me. You're the bravest fucking person in the entire universe."

Kurt swallows and smiles and keeps his eyes closed. "I'm the bravest person in the universe, and...?"

Dave laughs and sobs all at once. "And I love you. Jesus, fuck, Kurt. I've loved you so...so fucking long..."

Kurt's eyes open, and Dave is looking at him, and there's a wash of tears over those dazzling green-hazel eyes, and he's smiling and crying and he's petrified and he looks so _relieved_.

It's the most amazing thing Kurt has ever seen, this wonder on Dave's face. The awe in his eyes, the fear in his voice, the tears and the smile. It's a jumble, it's too big for Dave, and it feels like Kurt is looking into a mirror, reflecting his own feelings off of Dave's face.

Dave reaches out, the wonder in his eyes growing stronger than the other jumbled feelings. His fingers hesitate just short of Kurt's jaw, then slide up, over his cheek, a light touch from that big, rough hand.

Kurt shuts his eyes and leans into the touch, fitting his cheek against Dave's broad palm. If this, the shiver up his back and the heat everywhere, warmest where Dave touches him...if this is what it feels like to jump from a precipice, he's going to hate himself later for not getting to this point sooner.

He loved Blaine. He did. He knows it was real. But when he opens his eyes and meets Dave's he has never felt anything so huge, so overwhelming, for _anyone_ before. He loves Dave, so clear and deep and plain that he can't believe a single minute of his life has passed without this in it. He can't believe there was _anything _before this.

Dave's thumb slips out, brushing over Kurt's lower lip. He stares in awe, looking dazed by the freedom of the gesture like Kurt was moments or minutes or hours ago.

Kurt smiles into the touch, and it heats up something deep inside of him. He watches Dave's gaze dip to his mouth, and he wants, like _breathing, _he wants to lean in and tilt his face up and let his eyes drift shut in expectation.

And then Dave's mouth is warm and damp against his, salty with the remnants of tears. His hand slides back, fingers tangling in Kurt's hair, breath warm against Kurt's cheek. Kurt's hand slides up over Dave's broad, solid shoulder, slipping through the short hairs at the back of his neck, thrilling in the way Dave shivers in response.

It's their...their _third_ kiss, technically, but Kurt will swear up and down if anyone ever asks that this is the first time he has ever kissed anyone. Brittney and Blaine are so distant that they might have been bedtime stories from childhood that his memory tries to convince him were actually real.

Kurt's mouth feels too hot, burning, searing like Dave's lips are leaving scars against his skin. Like when they pull apart there will be a permanent imprint on him, and everyone who looks at him will be able to see it.

That's his overblown, romantic imagination, but if it were real...he wouldn't mind it. At all.

Dave pulls away after another minute, and Kurt opens his eyes ready to voice a complaint at being abandoned, but he gets struck into silence.

_This_, this glazed thrill glowing green and brown in Dave's eyes, is now the most beautiful thing Kurt has ever seen. He wonders with a shivering kind of warmth if that's going to be his life now, constantly being taken aback at how much more amazing Dave is than he was the moment before.

If so then it's another thing he's fully prepared to live with.

Dave meets his eyes and smiles, bright and amazed and free of shadows. "I usually wake up before this part, so I don't know what to do now."

Kurt laughs helplessly. "You're the genius, Mr. AP Physics."

"Yeah, but you're the Gay Morpheus here, Fancy. You teach, I learn."

"The gay _what?_"

Dave grins and blushes. "Come on. Morpheus? The Matrix?"

Kurt shrugs. "That's a movie. I know that much."

"Oh for the love of _Neo._" Dave laughs, it bubbles out of him like relief.

If it wasn't for the way his fingers are still sifting so gently through Kurt's hair, and that Kurt can't stop watching his mouth and remembering the taste of him, it would be like any other conversation.

"You're gonna sit through The Matrix, Kurt. I know Finn's gotta own it."

"If it makes you happy," Kurt says with a wide-eyed smile, tilting his face up towards Dave, "we'll have a whole marathon."

"No," Dave says fast. "Just the first one. I'm trying to make you _like _the-"

Since Dave's not getting it, the wide-eyed doting smile Kurt's angling at him, Kurt sighs and takes matters into his own hands.

Dave's words trail off against Kurt's mouth, and they're both grinning into the kiss, and maybe he's just a ridiculous, sappy little gay boy but the smiles just make it that much better.

When he chuckles against Dave's mouth Dave pulls back again, grinning with flushed cheeks. And Kurt can't help it – there's this fierce kind of happiness just blasting from Dave, and he's never seen it before on him, and he knows the same thing is beaming from his own face.

It must make his expression absolutely ridiculous, but Dave soaks him in like a flower facing the sun. "Christ, you are so fucking beautiful," he says, hushed, as his grin fades into a softer smile.

Kurt's eyes dip, and his grin gets that much wider. He's never believed those words so instantly, without reservations, before. He has absolutely no doubt that in Dave's eyes he _is _beautiful.

But before he can answer, before he's ready to come back down to solid ground, Dave's smile slips and fades, and his eyes seem to dim.

Kurt reaches out instantly, taking the front of Dave's shirt in a loose grip. "So soon?" he says in response to that look.

Dave seems to know just what he means, as usual, and he shakes his head. "I...Christ, Kurt, I don't know how long it's gonna take me to...to get to a place where I can..." He shakes his head, the sudden pain in his eyes more acute in the shadow of the raw thrill that had been there. "Do you really want to be with someone who can barely touch you?"

"You're touching me now," Kurt says with a smile.

Dave's hand slips free of Kurt's hair almost the next moment, but when he pulls his arm back it isn't all the way. He lays his hand over Kurt's, still fisted in his shirt. "I used to think to myself..." He looks up, meets Kurt's eyes, and there's a hint of his old shyness in that look.

Kurt has to hold his breath and brace himself to keep from leaning in and cutting him off, kissing and tasting that bashful smile.

"I thought...if I ever got you," Dave goes on, blushing, "if I ever got that lucky, there wouldn't be a single thing you could ask for that I'd say no to. I thought...even when I hated myself, when I thought I was dirt, I still knew that I'd give you anything you could want. No matter what I had to do. And maybe that would be worth something. But-"

"No buts," Kurt says instantly. "Dave...Blaine and I dated for almost a year. We never made it off first base." He shrugs, grinning sheepishly. "So you're scared; I'm a prude. It should work out nicely."

Dave laughs incredulously. "You?"

Kurt shrugs. Maybe a prude, maybe just less interested in sex than any other teenage boy in the world. It's something he accepts about himself, though it's something that feels oddly far away as he sits so close to Dave, with Dave's broad, warm hand covering his.

"At any rate, I get the feeling we're going to be able to help each other out with those issues," he says with a grin. "But trust me, I am in no hurry."

Dave shakes his head, but the shadows are fading back just like that. "You're not fucking real."

"I'm just smart enough to hang on to you now that I've got you." Kurt leans in, letting go of Dave's shirt and gripping his hand. "I love you," he says, smiling at the feeling of the words on his lips. "And there's only one thing I'm going to ask of you, at least for the foreseeable future."

Dave glows, eyes and smile and every other bit of him. He looks down at their hands and seems completely contented. "What's that?"

"You're going to let me make you a new Fancy playlist."

Dave laughs softly. "You'd never find enough Broadway on my iPod to satisfy you."

"Forget Broadway, I know what you listen to now, I just need to do some substituting. Roberta, Ella..." He grins, leaning in, ducking his eyes as he sings softly. "_Someday he'll come along, the man I love/And he'll be big and strong, the man I love..." _

Dave laughs, but it's thick and it catches and he tugs Kurt to him and grips his hand as their mouths meet. Grips as if he'll never let go.

* * *

><p><em>to be concluded...<em>


	30. Chapter 30

_Author's Note: I wanted to post these last two chapters together, because I thought this one would seem anti-climactic after the Talk. :-)_

_This is the part where I'm supposed to be pithy and brilliant and sum up how much I owe you all for your encouragement, your reviews, your art and your criticism and your enthusiasm. Unfortunately when I'm not speaking in the voice of a character I'm really not all that eloquent._

_I'll sum up: you people, the ones who have been with me since the beginning and the ones just reading now, are all amazing. I fell into this fandom almost by accident - I didn't even like the first few episodes I saw, but as usually happens with me first one character and then another jumped out and screamed for attention. I had absolutely no idea that my first lark of an idea would generate such a response._

_My ONLY worry in ending this story is that it will disappoint a single one of you. Your words have meant the world to me, and even though I stumbled into Glee by chance, I am sure as hell not going anywhere now._

_Thank you. Truly. Thank every last one of you._

* * *

><p>"Blaine and I broke up yesterday," Kurt reports to his dad and Carole when they come in from grocery shopping the next day.<p>

His dad turns to him fast, cutting off whatever he's saying as they walk through the door in mid-sentence. His face is instantly alight with concern, searching, probably trying to figure out if he's got to drive all the way up to Westerville and kick someone's ass on his son's behalf.

Kurt beams back at him.

His dad blinks after a moment, a furrow in his temple. "You, uh."

"Broke up," Kurt repeats with a grin.

They both stare at him.

From upstairs come sudden heavy footsteps pounding down. "Is that Finn? I'm so ready to get on Live and kick somebody's a-_hey_!" Dave thuds down to the bottom of the steps, grinning sheepishly at the adults. "Hey! Um. Need some help?"

Carole laughs softly and hands over the bag of groceries in her hand. "Help me put these away. You're cooking tonight, you get to make sure we picked up everything you need."

Dave grins and takes the bag, and grabs the one Kurt's dad is holding. "Just leave the car unlocked, I'll grab the rest." He jogs over to the kitchen.

Kurt's eyes follow him helplessly, and when Dave passes he grins down at Kurt, who grins up at him.

"Oh."

He turns back to his dad when Dave vanishes through the kitchen door. He sees the look on his dad's face and can't help but blush. "What?"

His dad stares hard at him, and looks after Dave, and sighs. "No more closed doors when you two are upstairs together."

Kurt's flush darkens, but he beams.

His dad shakes his head, long-suffering, but behind his shoulder Carole beams right back at Kurt.

* * *

><p>Kurt wanted to tell Blaine first, but he's respecting Blaine's wishes to not call for a few days. Besides, it's probably ridiculously tacky to call his too-recent-ex and gush about his current relationship, even if Blaine did everything he could in the end to help him make it happen.<p>

So he tells his dad and Carole everything he can comfortably share, and when Finn finally gets home and sets up Call of Duty on X-box Live, Kurt keeps sitting beside Dave holding his hand until he needs it for the controller. And even Finn can't help but miss that.

Finn, being who he is, just looks at them and makes a face. "We're supposed to be thinking of each other as _brothers_ here, guys. Gross."

Dave innocently suggests brother-in-law instead, which makes Finn gag until Dave has to punch him, and makes Kurt beam until his face actually hurts from it.

And it's easy.

It's easy and it's right, and everything is so much like it was between them. They talk for hours, they do homework, they laugh about weird things. Dave calls him when they're not together and murmurs multi-syllabic science words at him until Kurt's shivering so hard he must look like he's having seizures.

It's the same as it was. It's Dave, big awkward guy who curses like a sailor and smiles like a timid kid. And it's Kurt, who takes care of him, and worries about him, and laughs with him. Who drives to a therapist once a week while Dave's still going twice, who talks through his guilt and his disillusionment with the world in a rose-colored office so that he can come home and focus on being absolutely happy.

Only when Kurt realizes how little has changed between them does he start to realize exactly how inevitable this actually was. They still call and text and sit in each others' bedrooms and laugh about Albright or gripe about Rachel or hockey practice or whatever.

They were already dating, apparently. Already a couple, maybe the entire time Dave's been here.

The only difference _now_ is that when he makes Dave grin those face-splitting grins, Kurt can without hesitation reach out and trace the swell of his cheek and watch it flush pink under his trailing fingertips.

When he wants to hold Dave's hand he doesn't have to have a reason. When they start to say goodnight they can kiss and smile and murmur soft words and kiss some more until an hour's gone by and they still haven't really said goodnight yet.

Mercedes finally comes over to pay a visit to Kurt's house, strolling in with her Diva firing on all cylinders, ready to give Dave the third degree because she's still Team Blaine. Except Kurt leaves them in the living room while he's making a tray of drinks and snacks – as befits a proper host, per Madame Martha Stewart – and when he comes back Dave is red-faced and Mercedes is beaming about something and pecking Dave's number into her phone. Kurt asks what he missed, but Mercedes vows silence and Dave just looks at Kurt with vulnerable eyes and smiles shyly until Kurt gets the gist of it.

Santana threatens Kurt with violence if Dave ever even thinks about looking like he's debating the possibility of even _considering _being unhappy.

Azimio makes Dave swear solemnly that he will never share a single detail about anything that ever happens between he and Kurt, ever.

They don't spread the word at McKinley, not the first couple of weeks, but they don't hide themselves either. Dave comes to glee rehearsals when he doesn't have hockey practice. He sits and watches and ignores Rachel's attempts to trick him into singing. Kurt goes to hockey practice when he doesn't have glee, and sits and watches boys roll around on skates and hit things with sticks, and can never take his eyes off Dave, charging his way through the others whenever he plays.

The same as it was, really. Nothing all that different, except that Kurt has been a happy kid most of his life and now there's no words for how he feels.

He and Blaine talk. Kurt tries his hardest to keep Dave out of the conversations, but he is who he is so things slip out. Blaine is as quietly supportive as ever. By the weekend after their break-up Kurt's asking his help in putting together the perfect Fancy playlist for Dave's iPod, and Kurt wavers between hating himself and really wanting his friend Blaine back. Maybe he's selfish. Probably he's selfish.

Dave loves him either way, so. Selfish is okay with Kurt.

* * *

><p>Blaine is coming down, two weeks after they last saw each other. Two weeks into 'friendship', he's going to come and go have dinner with Kurt and Dave.<p>

Kurt quietly frets about it all day, grabbing Mercedes as often as possible for reassurance that things are going to be okay, and texting Blaine almost constantly to make sure he's certain, he really wants to come, he doesn't just want to be nice and hide the fact that he despises Kurt now.

Blaine calls him at lunch, amused and a little edged, reminding him that Blaine is the one who did the dumping, so maybe Kurt ought to worry about his own poor injured emotions.

Kurt goes to glee rehearsal with one eye on his cell phone, and when Blaine starts texting the same old boring details about his trip as he gets closer, Kurt finally relaxes.

He focuses on glee rehearsal in time to miss whatever Mr. Schue is finishing up speechifying about. Something about simplicity and how the most straightforward lyrics are often the ones that stick with people.

Kurt sits beside Mercedes and tries to fight beaming like an idiot with the door pushes open and Dave slides in, sitting in his usual close-to-the-escape-route chair near the door. Dave grins back at him, pointing at his wrist and then at his eyebrow.

Kurt grins (in order to make nice with Kurt's ex-boyfriend, Dave has consented to sticking with Eyebrows as a nickname for Blaine) and holds up five fingers, since Blaine is set to pull in around five if he doesn't catch the start of rush hour.

Dave nods and settles back, pulling out his cell phone to busy himself in some game or another.

"So," Mr. Schue says with a smile when no one seems to question his wisdom about the beauty of simplicity. "Who haven't we heard from this week? Puck? Artie?"

"Yeah, I got something." Puck pushes up out of his seat, punching Lauren's arm with his fist as he passes – a token of love between the two of them, no doubt. Kurt has never pretended to understand.

He moves down to the floor and past the piano, grabbing his guitar from against the wall and pulling up a chair to the front.

Kurt smiles as Dave glances up at him, rolls his eyes and goes back to his phone. There are some people there Dave will pay attention to – most gallingly, Rachel – but none of the Glocks make that list.

Puck's performances can be...non-standard, and Kurt kind of enjoys the fact that unlike most of the kids in glee he never has any idea in advance what sort of song Puck will have chosen. He's done numbers so amazing they could have been put on stage without a single change and blown away an audience. But he's had some train wrecks, too.

Whatever Puck does he does all the way, so Kurt is always interested when he steps up.

Puck sits down in front of the group. He strums a couple of times, tightening a couple of strings with his usual cocky grin, and Kurt glances sideways at Mercedes to share one of the 'oh god what now' grins that usually begin one of his songs.

Mercedes is staring right at Kurt, absolutely beaming.

Kurt blinks in confusion, registering the excitement in her eyes and the blast of a smile. Just as he's about to ask her what kind of drugs she's on, Puck starts playing a melody.

He raises his eyebrow at Mercedes and her rather out-of-place expression, but turns obediently back to Puck to be a good audience.

It's a quick, soft little number, nothing that Kurt knows, and Puck plays a few measures and opens his mouth, then blinks and frowns.

"Shit," he says amiably. "I can't even remember the words."

There are some snorts and laughs from behind Kurt, but his brow is furrowing at the stilted delivery of those words, and the way Mercedes is all but shuddering in anticipation from her seat.

Puck looks out at the club. "Someone help me out here – anyone know this song?"

Nobody does, but Puck grins and starts playing from the beginning of the song, confident, like he fully expects someone to get up and start singing.

And someone does.

_"This is the first day of my life_  
><em>Swear I was born right in the doorway."<em>

It's an uncertain start, a soft voice that Kurt doesn't instantly recognize. Male and low and hesitant. Mercedes squeaks in joy from beside Kurt. Puck goes on playing, silent and unsurprised.

_"I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed_  
><em>They're spreading blankets on the beach."<em>

From the corner of his eye he sees movement, and Kurt's eyes go over slowly even as there are gasps of reaction behind him.

Dave.

He's red-faced, phone gone from his hands as he stands up. He moves in behind Puck, standing over him as Puck sits and plays without a reaction. He sings.

_"Yours is the first face that I saw_  
><em>I think I was blind before I met you<em>  
><em>Now I don't know where I am, I d<em>_on't know where I've been_  
><em>But I know where I want to go."<em>

He's nervous and it shows – his voice is softer than it needs to be, unsteady at first. But it's low and smooth and gruff, the way Dave so often is. It's _perfect._

Kurt wants to look over at Mercedes, wants to know how much she had to do with this, when she and Puck and Dave had a chance to make this happen. But he can't look away from Dave.

Dave's eyes are facing straight out, but he's not focused. He's not looking at anyone, just blushing and singing and Kurt can't even _breathe _because the sound of it isn't welcome over Dave's voice.

_"And so I thought I'd let you know_  
><em>That these things take forever, <em>_I especially am slow_  
><em>But I realize that I need you<em>  
><em>And I wondered if I could come home."<em>

Dave's confidence is coming to him word by word. He gets a little less soft, a little less airy, and his eyes start focusing on people one by one. His mouth quirks upwards when he looks at Mercedes and she all but wiggles her excitement beside Kurt.

Then, drawing in a breath to go into the next verse, Dave's eyes move to Kurt and stay there.

_"This is the first day of my life  
>I'm glad I didn't die before I met you<br>But now I don't care, I could go anywhere with you  
>And I'd probably be happy."<em>

Kurt can't help it when he blinks and his vision clouds. He can't help the hand that comes up to his mouth, covering up the ridiculous look on his face that can't decide whether to gape or grin.

He reaches over and grips Mercedes's hand, and she laughs and squeezes back.

Dave grins, still blushing, and moves around Puck's chair, approaching Kurt as he sings. His hands are stuffed in his pocket, his walk is more of an amble, but it fits the low-key acoustic sound of this song that Kurt doesn't know.

_"So if you wanna be with me_  
><em>With these things there's no telling<em>  
><em>We'll just have to wait and see<em>  
><em>But I'd rather be working for a paycheck<em>  
><em>Than waiting to win the lottery."<em>

Dave reaches out a hand, and Mercedes all but flings Kurt's hand away from her so that he can reach out and take it. Kurt wants to cry, he's going to _cry_, but he can't stop smiling long enough.

Dave grins and threads their fingers together, and if there's any doubt that the song was meant to be a serenade for one specific person, he silences that doubt by tugging Kurt to his feet and singing the last couple of lines to him, soft and smiling.

_"Besides, maybe this time it's different_  
><em>I mean I really think you like me..."<em>

Puck plays for a little while, and Kurt kind of hears it but mostly doesn't care. He beams at Dave, grabbing his other hand, not caring that there are tears in his eyes and his smile is probably absolutely ridiculous-looking.

When Puck stops, though, it's harder to ignore the reactions from the entire club. There's cheers, applause, cat-calls. From Finn comes some comment about 'God, it's like _incest_, creeeepy' that Santana and Quinn both join forces to beat him for.

Rachel is down on the floor in a minute, tugging at Dave, who doesn't seem to register her presence, and then shouting at Mr. Schue.

"He's joining New Directions, right? He's _joining the glee club, right?"_

Kurt answers that, maybe too soft for anyone but Dave to hear. "No," he says, unable to look away from Dave's glittering hazel eyes and the huge grin on his blushing face. "He's a hockey player."

Dave laughs and holds Kurt's hands tightly. "She said this was the only way to impress you," he says to Kurt with a nod back at Mercedes.

Kurt laughs. He's going to kill her later, when he can think again, for knowing that this was going to happen and not warning him. "Not the only way," he answers through his idiotic grin. "But it's a sure thing."

"Just..." Dave shrugs, looking around behind Kurt and leaning in closer, lowering his voice. Kurt doesn't doubt most of the glee club is staring at them with giant smirks on their nosey faces. "I know you're nervous about tonight. Wanted to get your mind off things."

"You liar!" Mercedes appears at Kurt's side, grinning. "He's been practicing for the last _week_."

"Scram, Mariah," Dave mutters, barely glancing at her.

Kurt laughs and presses in closer, slipping his hands around Dave and smiling up at him. "Just when I think I can't love you more."

Dave rolls his eyes and can't hide his pleased smile.

"Just one thing," Kurt can't help but add.

Dave's eyebrow lifts. "I don't know who told you I was after a critique, Songboy, but they were wrong."

Kurt laughs. "No, just." He nods over at Rachel, who has Mr. Schue cornered, making passionate demands with hands waving back towards Dave. "You shouldn't have done it in front of her. Get ready for an obsessive Rachel Berry in your face every day."

Dave groans, low and sincere enough to make Kurt laugh all over again.

* * *

><p>As distraction it works. Kurt can't even feel awkward when they pull up to a side street in Dave's truck and he sees Blaine standing there, leaning against his Jetta.<p>

He gets out of the truck, beaming, singing that much louder when the engine shuts off and the music stills. "_But I'd rather be working for a paycheck then waiting to win the lotteryyyy." _

Blaine grins, straightening from his casual lean as Kurt approaches. "You're in a good mood."

Kurt hugs him without waiting to see if Blaine will give him the chance. Luckily Blaine is Blaine, and folds his arms around Kurt without missing a moment.

"Hey, you."

"Hi." Blaine pulls back and studies him, shaking his head. "You look miserable, no wonder you want me to rescue you."

Kurt can't even speak through his grin.

Blaine's eyes go back to Dave. "Did you drug him?"

Dave shrugs. "It's the _music_," he says, and Kurt can't see his face but he sure sounds like he's rolling his eyes. "It's in his soul or what the fuck ever."

Blaine grins at Kurt. "Interesting. I don't think I know that song you were singing, is it-"

"You don't _know _it?" Kurt's grin vanishes in horror. "How can you not know it? It's my _favorite song ever."_

Blaine blinks, for a moment looking worried.

Dave moves past them both, nudging Kurt's arm. "Since an hour and a half ago, yeah. He made me listen to it over and over again the whole fucking way here."

Kurt grabs Blaine's arm as he moves to keep up with Dave. "It sounds better when you sing it," he reports to Dave for not the first time since hearing the recorded version.

"You _sang _to him?" Blaine asks as he stumbles to keep up with Kurt. "He _sang_ to you?"

Kurt turns to him to tell him the whole story, following Dave through a doorway without paying any attention. He's right at the part where Puck pretends to forget the words when a roar of voices makes him jump.

"_DAVID!"_

Kurt looks around for the first time, and actually focuses on something outside his own head long enough to see where it is Dave has chosen for them to eat.

He grins at the now-familiar faces behind the grill, the huge, friendly smiles, the owner who immediately launches to the near side of the counter and thrusts his arm out to shake hands.

Dave claps Blaine on the shoulder and steers him away from Kurt. "Brought a new friend for ya."

"David's friend! Welcome, welcome!"

Kurt laughs as Blaine blinks disconcerted eyes and reaches out to hesitantly shake the man's hand.

He glances over at Dave, letting his surprise show.

Dave glances back, shrugging. "I didn't say he couldn't _ever _come here."

Kurt laughs and grabs Blaine's arm, leaning in as his hand is finally released. "Remind me to tell you more about this later."

Blaine shoots him a bemused grin.

They slide into a table against the wall, and Blaine looks around at the place with the same slightly-judgmental stare Kurt first gave it once upon a time.

Kurt gives him about five minutes before he falls in love with the Gyro Hut.

"Hey!" He reaches across the table for Dave's hand, beaming. "Want to go bowling after?"

Dave rolls his eyes, slipping his fingers through Kurt's.

Blaine nudges Kurt's arm, nodding up at the counter, at the matching olive-skinned, heavy-eyebrowed faces regarding their table with grins and ongoing Arabic chatter. "You sure you should be...I mean, this is still Lima."

Dave chuckles. "Relax, Eyebrows. They're cool here." He makes eye contact with Kurt. "The owner's got a gay son, he doesn't give a shit." Dave's chin jerks towards Blaine, his eyebrows raising.

Kurt nods, instant and hard.

Dave laughs and lets his hand go, looking back at Blaine. "Hang on, you should meet him. Nice guy." He turns ins his chair and pitches his voice loud. "Yo, Sam!"

Kurt's madly, ridiculously in love, but that fact hasn't yet robbed him of his sight. He can't help one of those 'hell_ooo_' moments when Samir comes out from the back office behind the counter and smiles at their table.

Blaine zooms in on Samir like a camera lens. He makes a little sound, a little half-formed 'oh' as his mouth drops open.

Dave gets up and grabs Samir's hand in a friendly shake and steers him over.

Kurt leans in to Blaine as he stares. "So," he murmurs. "Your 'someone new' at Dalton...how's that going? I haven't asked."

Blaine's eyes don't leave Samir. "Didn't work out," he mumbles in answer.

A moment later he's on his feet, and that charming Blaine smile is firmly fixed into place. He moves around the table, hand stretched out. "Sam, is it? _Nice_ to meet you."

Samir takes him in and smiles back, all full lips and stunning milky brown eyes against his rich dark skin.

Kurt has a pang for a moment, and pathetically he has no idea if it's a pang for Blaine or for Samir. But Dave extricates himself and leaves the two of them talking, and when he slides back into his chair across from Kurt, Kurt's pangs dissolve away like sugar in water.

Dave reaches out, taking advantage of their moment alone to grip Kurt's hand, to smooth his thumb across Kurt's knuckles. "Think we're even now?"

Kurt smiles instantly. "You and Blaine? What, he let you have me so you introduce him to Samir?"

"Huh. Put it like that..." Dave meets his eyes and smiles, sheepish the way he normally is (Kurt has recently learned) when he's about to be sappy. "I'm gonna owe him the rest of my fucking life, aren't I?"

Kurt ducks his eyes and grins and tries not to feel just _smug_ levels of happiness. "Sounds about right."

* * *

><p>If there's a single dark spot left now, it comes in less frequent bursts.<p>

But it still comes hard.

Kurt can only manage a frown anymore at times like this, holding on to a glass of tepid water outside the bathroom door, waiting for it to open.

Dave emerges after a few minutes, pale and shaking, face and hair damp from the sink. He reaches for the water, and it shivers in his hand but Kurt has learned not to fill it up so badly that it will spill when Dave holds it.

Kurt takes his arm and leads him back to his bedroom, silent and sad.

One of the two expelled students who the cops let walk...he's petitioning to come back to McKinley. There's no other decent school near enough with a good football program, and the kid wants to have a meeting with Dave and Figgins and their parents (the kid's parents, Kurt supposes, and hopefully Kurt's dad can sit in for Dave).

Dave tells Kurt it doesn't matter, that it could have been anyone on the team watching the doors at a teammate's request. It's nothing most of them haven't done once or twice. He doesn't blame the lookouts, he says. He doubts they had any idea what was happening behind the doors.

But now this.

Kurt moves ahead of Dave and pulls down the covers on his bed. Dave sits on the mattress with a sigh, setting the glass on the table beside the bed.

"They're getting worse." Kurt watches Dave slip back under the covers. He sits on the side of the bed when Dave has settled in.

Dave frowns, but doesn't deny it. "It was just a long day."

"No. You're throwing up again." Kurt reaches out and smooths his hair back, and he knows that nothing in the world is magic. His love isn't enough to heal all wounds. But god, he wants this to stop so badly. "You haven't done that for a while."

Dave shakes his head, but doesn't argue. His hand slips free of the covers to catch against the thin sleeve of Kurt's pajamas. "I'm okay."

"You're not." Kurt can see the shadows in his eyes, the shadows under his eyes. Everything in life is so _perfect_, and then comes this black mark. He hates it, hates that Dave still has to suffer for an attack that happened months ago.

"It's the meeting, isn't it? That bastard coming back to school."

"No."

Kurt frowns at him through the dim light coming in through Dave's small window, through the street light perfectly positioned outside.

"Then what? Things are worse, Dave. I know, I'm with you every night when..." He draws a breath, lets it out.

Things are perfect, but he worries.

"Is it..." He has to steel himself, to draw a breath and hold it. "Is it me?"

Dave frowns instantly. "What? Why would it...?"

Kurt nods at his own hand, so thoughtlessly stroking through Dave's hair. "I mean...this. You and me." He meets Dave's eyes. "Do I push you too much? Do I...touch you too much, or...?"

Dave leans up on an elbow instantly, eyes suddenly focused and wide-awake. "Kurt."

Kurt trails off, swallows, but doesn't take the words back.

Dave frowns and studies him. After a moment he reaches out and swats at Kurt's hip. "Get up."

"What?" Kurt obeys, because he is programmed to do anything Dave asks without hesitation during nights like this.

Dave flips the covers down and slips further against the wall. "Come here."

Kurt looks down at the bed, but his body and his mind act out in unison, overpowering any sense of hesitation or guilt. He sinks into the bed, and Dave draws the covers up around him.

For a moment Dave just looks down at him, and Kurt rolls on his side and tugs the pillow nervously. Dave drops back on his back, and his arm stretches out, and Kurt slides in like they've done this a hundred times, like he has any experience at all lying next to someone in bed.

He curls his arm over Dave's chest and Dave's arm circles under him and around his back, pressing him in close. Kurt grips Dave's t-shirt and his leg slips between Dave's and when they tangle up there on Dave's narrow bed it feels instantly like it's exactly where Kurt belongs.

Kurt's cheek rests against Dave's shirt, and he watches his own finger trace random patterns over his t-shirt.

Dave reaches up and skims the backs of his fingers up Kurt's arm. "You've got to stop worrying so much," he says, voice low and rough.

Kurt lets out a breath that wants to be a laugh when it grows up. "Wish me luck with that."

Dave snorts softly. "I'm serious. You really think you're hurting me somehow?"

"You're getting worse," Kurt says again. And he knows it, he sees it. The nightmares aren't as common, the flashes of temper, the glimpses of anguish, they aren't as frequent. But they're _worse_. "The only thing that's changed is me."

"You want to know my theory?"

Kurt frowns but sighs and doesn't protest.

"Seriously, Fancy." Dave's mouth presses into Kurt's hair lightly. "You'll like it. It's sciencey."

"And us already in bed together? Dangerous." It's a joke, but half-hearted.

Dave sounds like he's smiling when he answers, though. "It's diffusion."

"That's not the sexiest science word I've ever heard from you," Kurt answers.

"My apologies. I could call it molecular diffusion if that turns your crank."

Kurt smiles despite himself. "Better," he allows.

"You and your kinks," Dave says into his hair. He strokes Kurt's arm, back and forth, as he talks. "Okay, let me figure out how to explain this...so a molecule, right? It moves randomly, it's hard to predict. Impossible, if you believe a lot of quantum mechanics."

"Are you the molecule?" Kurt asks with a smile, and his guilt and fear is already starting to drift away from the bed. Maybe it's being here beside Dave in this new way, realizing bit by bit how entirely warm he is, how comfortable this feels. Maybe it's Dave, the low rumble of his voice.

Whatever.

"Let me tell this, Fancy. And no, I'm not the molecule, dork."

Kurt grins into Dave's shirt, and he shuts his eyes and draws a deep breath, soaking in the scent of Carole's favorite fabric softener, and Dave underneath.

"Okay, molecule, random movements. Got it? The thing is, if you put a whole handful of molecules into a confined space, despite the random movements, they tend to diffuse out. They spread out evenly to fill whatever space they're in." Dave's fingers slide up higher, stroking over Kurt's hand and resting there. "So the bigger the space they have to fill, the further apart they spread. And the smaller the space, the more concentrated."

"I think I'm with you so far," Kurt says softly. "If I ignore the 'molecule' part it's less scary."

"Mmm." Dave chuckles, low and thick in his throat. "Well...that's what's going on here. That's what I think."

Kurt blinks his eyes open and tilts his head to frown at Dave.

Dave smiles down at him, eyes heavy. "A couple months ago, everything about me was fucking miserable. You know? I didn't have anything good, anything but a friendship with you. Everything else about me was wide open, filled up by all this fucking misery." He squeezes Kurt's hand. "Nowadays? I've got this huge life, and I'm so fucking happy." He says the words simply, but Kurt heard the smile, the truth. "And that crowds out the misery. It's got less space to fill. It's not that it's worse, Kurt. It's just that I'm too happy the rest of the time, so it all concentrates in these fucking lousy moments."

Kurt thinks about that.

"The only thing you do," Dave says softly, "is give me something good to compare nights like this to. You take up more and more space, and if it means the bad shit gets a thousand times worse and a thousand times more rare, then bring it on."

Kurt smiles, tilting his head down and pressing his lips lightly against Dave's shirt, near his heart. "I love you," he murmurs, and it's more true every time he says it.

"Love you," Dave answers, hoarse and sincere.

Kurt hate the nightmares, the bathroom door waking him up, the glass of water he can't forget to fill each night, just in case. He hates the moments of grief in Dave's eyes, the despair, the fury.

The memories. They're still there, in Dave's mind, in his thoughts.

He hates seeing it, but it really isn't as often as it used to be. Not as often as a week ago, definitely not as bad as a month ago, and even a month ago was a world better than two months ago.

His problem, maybe, is that he tends to block out time in some concrete way, instead of seeing the changes as they unfold.

He's always done that. With Dave more than anyone or anything else. There was the period of Karofsky, of locker-shoves and slushies and hateful looks. Then the Kiss, and the phase afterward before he left for Dalton. There was the Bullwhips phase. The awkward email Dave sent him that felt like the start of a new phase, and the attack in the locker room that ended it way too fast, and began a horrible new phase.

Kurt is constantly separating his life, Dave's life, into these arbitrary periods, this beginnings and endings, this moment and then this moment. Even falling in love with Dave seemed to him to happen in definitely blocks of time. This day and then this day, on and on. Even now, even while he has Dave, he can't stop trying to find the differences between one moment and the next. Is this week better than last week? Is this moment worse than the same moment a week ago?

It's really pretty ridiculous, now that he's seeing it for what it is. In ten years he isn't going to separate his memories of high school into a thousand different periods.

In ten years, in _one_ year, there's only going to be one division that means anything: _before_ This, and This. The line that separates those two periods (and there is no line, no real one, even for something this big, because love isn't a single fall from a cliff, is it?) is the only one that will last.

Kurt wonders if there's some scientific theory for all this, some painfully obvious physics term for the way nothing really starts or stops, it just grows and spreads.

Dave is snoring softly in his ear, his hand limp on Kurt's, so he doesn't bother asking him about it. For now he settles in against Dave and wonders distantly if his dad will kill him in the morning if he finds them like this, before remembering that Dave's bedroom door is still cracked open, so technically they're obeying the rules.

Dave sleeps. Pressed against him, warm and comfortable and content, it doesn't take Kurt long to follow.

And, like always when Kurt stays beside Dave, no more nightmares trouble them through the night.

* * *

><p>The End<p> 


End file.
